Packsong
by Scion of Kushiel
Summary: Ten years after Howl of Despair, Remus and Callum are offered positions at the Avistrum Academy of Sorcery. But, evil didn't die with the Dark Lord, and they find She has plenty to keep them busy. Complete! Please R&R!
1. We Don't Bite, We Nibble

**Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor the Avistrum Academy of Sorcery. Harry Potter is, of course, owned by the fabuloso J.K. Rowling, and the Avistrum Academy of Sorcery is the property of Avistrum, LLC. I am, however, pathetically addicted to both of them, as is made painfully obvious here. Nor do I own the majority of the characters in the school, they are my interpretation (with some somewhat significant artistic liberties) of real students at Avistrum. Does that take care of the legal junk?**

_A/N1: Thank you to the faculty and staff and fellow students at Avistrum for knowingly and unknowingly allowing me to use you in this. Our school is just too awesome to leave unheralded in the realms of fanfic. For those of you who haven't heard about it, check it out! And, as always, please REVIEW!_

_A/N2: This story is a sequel to Howl of Despair. I guess it's not mandatory to read the other first, but you're going to be awfully confused if you don't._

_A/N3: (Last one, I promise) Your opinions count! Callum is at that age where hook-ups tend to be rather popular. I know pretty much where I want the story to go, but the details are up to you. Who do you want him to end up with? Leave a review and post your vote, and I'll write according to popular demand, in that aspect anyway. If the vote starts changing, so does the story, so leave a review with each chapter if you want your voice heard. Just to keep things fun and interesting._

**Chapter One: We Don't Bite, We Nibble**

It was going to take some getting used to, Callum decided, following the strange little house elf the Headmaster had sent for him. Rather than the tea towel togas of Hogwarts, it was clad in the strangest get up he'd ever seen, and he'd been around Dobby for an awful long time. Its long ears hidden beneath an oversized cowboy hat, in an eyesmarting combination of neon green and pale lilac, it was draped in what he could only describe as an opaque shower curtain, black with gold stars shooting all over it. He was in the middle of trying to decide if this was their uniform or if this was simply another eccentric like Dobby when they appeared outside of the Headmaster's Office.

The house elf vanished, leaving Callum alone in front of the guardian statue of the sphinx, nestled in the back of a rather dim hallway. There was something obscurely comforting with that; even after she'd married, Ginny had kept her rooms near the infirmary, and he'd often used them as an escape of sorts, a quiet place to study with far less chance of being interrupted than if he used the library. The sphinx stared at him regally, hooded eyes seeing straight through him.

"Your business?" She asked him, marble tail curling around her haunches.

"I'm here to see Headmaster Dowling," he answered politely. "He sent for me."

The statue regarded him for several long moments, but he did his best not to fidget. It wouldn't do to seem rude. He almost winced at a memory from second year, when a painting had set Peeves on him for a full week for failing to say hello as he rushed by late for class. Finally, the sphinx nodded and opened the door with her tail, beckoning him onward.

Stepping forward, he emerged into a spacious office that rivaled even Dumbledore's for the sheer manner of curiosities arranged around the room. A small pirate ship floated around at head level, its black and white jolly roger snapping in a sharp breeze unfelt by anything else in the room. On its main deck, a jeweled gold lamp rested in miniature. A white wiffle ball hung in bizarre prominence next to a blindingly polished silver sword, its metal all the brighter against the dark wood of the hanging plaque. Amulets and gadgets littered the space in neatly arranged categories, books lining every available inch of wall space, the shelves at times simply creating a break where something needed to be displayed. Directly across from the sword, another plaque was mounted on the wall, this one with a head fixed firmly upon it. A small brown mouse slept curled atop its scalp. Grimacing, Callum turned towards the Headmaster, who had patiently waited through his appraisal.

"What's the matter, boy, scared of me?"

Callum stared at the Headmaster blankly, but the sneering voice didn't match the jovial tones of his earlier greeting. Smiling slightly, Clark Dowling shook his head and touched a finger to his lips.

"Up here, stupid!" The voice called again, and mystified, Callum turned round, searching for the speaker. "I said up, you imbecile, or are you deaf as well as idiotic?"

Finally locating the voice, Callum's jaw dropped open, staring at the head. The eyes had opened and were now focused on him in a very rude glare, the fangs sliding out from between his lips. "How the he-"

"Step closer and I'll be only too glad to explain in detail."

"Lysander, that's enough," Clark declared firmly, and he cast a silencing spell before the head could deliver a retort. "You'll have to forgive him," he continued calmly. "He's never really forgiven me for defeating him."

"Really."

His smile growing, Clark gestured the young man to a seat before settling into his own behind the paper laden desk. "Lysander Tepish, formerly Lord of Transylvania. His tale is a footnote in a much larger one that I should probably tell you." He took a breath, and Callum could almost see the thoughts being filed into place, to create an efficiently told and well organized story. "This is something you will have to deal with, being Robin's apprentice. Quite a few years ago, I started something called the Dark Hunters, a specialized troop of SWAT members."

Having no idea what SWAT was, Callum simply nodded, not wishing to interrupt.

"Our purpose is to locate Dark activity and bring it to an end, wherever it may happen to take us. Many of the artifacts you see here in my office, such as Excalibur there, and the Medallion of Akpuch, were recovered from the dastards and brought here to be protected. I am still in charge of the Dark Hunters, and several other of the staff are members of it as well. This is actually why I am handing off my Defense classes to Mister Lupin. We have increasing reason to believe that She-"

"She, sir?" He interrupted, hearing the emphasis.

"Yes, Persephone," Clark answered, as if it should be obvious. At Callum's blank look, he chuckled. "Sorry. Sometimes I forget she hasn't spread across the pond quite yet. She keeps us hopping over here so much. She's been active for many years."

"That's why the Americans didn't get involved with Voldemort, isn't it?"

"Exactly so. We had our own evil little friend to be worrying about, and it's not as if Mister Potter didn't prove to be up to the task. Persephone probably isn't all the different from your Dark Lord, except that she's more or less female and that provides a difference in approaches, but anyway. As Robin's intern, you'll be dealing with us coming back from missions, as well. We'd like to keep Elena more towards the run of the mill injuries and sicknesses, the normal school incidents, while she's still a student, some things simply aren't appropriate. How old are you, Mister Sleipak?"

"Um, nearly eighteen, sir," he replied, feeling a little overwhelmed by the man.

"Hmm, let's keep that hush amongst the students, then, yes? We run school a year later here in the States, so the seventh year students are actually the same age as you, and that wouldn't really do for any kind of authority. It's hard enough for us to maintain the façade of respect as it is."

"Sir?"

"Never mind, Mister Sleipak, it's nothing to be worried about. Now, let's see about getting you introduced to Robin, shall we? I know you two have spoken through owls, but that's never quite the same."

A bit bemused, Callum followed the man out of the office. As Clark closed the door, a black blur came streaking out of the room, stopping next to them in the hall. The elegant feline regarded Callum with knowing golden eyes before pointedly flipping her tail at him, leaping up onto Clark's shoulder.

"Ah, yes, this is Bast. She's part cat, part Egyptian goddess, so mind you treat her with respect."

Smiling crookedly, the boy absently hooked his hands through the back loops of his jeans, a safe length away from the animal. "Cats and dogs don't mix so well, sir; I think I'll just keep a respectful distance."

"Yes, that might be best," the Headmaster agreed, nodding to the guardian sphinx. The pair (sorry, Bast), trio walked briskly through the halls, the Headmaster nodding to any students they passed. Tucked away not far from the main entrance, they found the large double doors leading into the infirmary, which Clark breezed through without knocking.

Inside, they found a woman tending to a nasty looking bruise on a girl's highly swollen knee, the girl wincing despite the woman's gentle touch. "Well, I'm tempted to let you keep the bruise, just so you'll learn your lesson, but I'll be right back with the balm and the potion." Sweeping her brown hair out of her face, the woman rushed by them towards the medicine cabinet. "Hello, Headmaster, what brings you here today?"

"What happened?" he asked instead, eyeing the girl thoughtfully.

"I fell, sir," she answered, ducking her head to try and hide the fierce blush.

"While trying once again to hug Professor Bloodthorne," the woman added dryly, coming back by them. "Here you are, Susan. I want you to take one swallow of the potion every four hours until the swelling has gone down, and rub the balm on your knee as needed, all right?"

Nodding, the strawberry blonde rose unsteadily to her feet and began hobbling out of the hospital wing.

"Susan?"

"Yes, ma'am?" The nurse pointed mutely at a pair of crutches, and the girl sighed, fitting them under her arms with the ease of obvious practice. "Yes, ma'am." Now supported with the crutches, she left the infirmary, and the woman turned back towards her guests.

"Well, Clark?" She laughed. "Are you going to answer my question?"

"Robin, this is Callum Sleipak, your new apprentice. Mister Sleipak, this is Robin Kayenta, our school nurse and your new slavedriver."

"Clark!" She protested softly. Smiling, she held out a hand to the younger man. "Hello, Callum. I may call you that, yes?"

"Absolutely, ma'am. I'd actually prefer it," he replied, shaking her hand. She had a firm but gentle grip, and he found himself appraising her, as had become his habit, by scent as much by sight. She smelled very clean and slightly of potions, which was very common in a healer. More than that, though, there was something earthy to her, something than ran deep in her magic and washed over his senses.

She smiled again and nodded, letting go of his hand. "You'll meet Elena a little later, she's in classes at the moment. I'm sure you two will get along without any problems."

Clark cleared his throat apologetically. "I promise I'll let you have him for longer later, Robin, but I would like him to be able to get at least passingly familiar with where the major points of the school are before it gets dark. Is that all right?"

"Of course, Clark," Robin assured, her dark brown eyes amused. "I'll see you later, Callum, but don't worry. Your first official day isn't for a little while yet, so you'll have plenty of time to learn."

He had barely time to murmur a quick farewell before he had to follow the Headmaster again, out the doors of the infirmary and back towards the main entrance of the school.

"Let's see, I think some of the older students have a free period during this time," Clark muttered as they entered the Great Hall. A handful of students looked up from where they sat scattered through the room, some of them idly talking or snacking, some working on homework. "Ah, yes, she'll do nicely."

While Callum was still trying to figure out who he was talking about, Clark led them next to a table with a single person sitting at it, her quill scratching elegantly on a sheet of vellum. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked, without even looking up, and Callum recognized her as one of the girls outside, though her name quite escaped him.

"Kush, would you be willing to give Mister Sleipak a quick tour of the school and grounds? I'd like to make sure that everything is set up for Professor Lupin and his family."

"Of course, sir." She slid her letter into a folder, taking care not to smear the ink, and packed her other supplies into her black backpack, one strap covered in sew-on buttons. She nodded in response to the Headmaster's grateful smile and watched him walk away from the corner of her eye. Turning back to Callum she smirked. "Remember my name, or did we introduce ourselves too quickly?" She asked in a lilting Irish brogue that reminded him of home.

"He just called you Kush," he reminded her, feeling oddly comfortable in her presence. He wasn't usually comfortable around girls; they tended to giggle far too much.

"Then that's good enough. It is okay to call you Callum, or should we call you Mister Sleipak?"

"Callum is perfect."

"All right, then, Callum, this is the Great Hall. This would be where we eat and gather, and they're perfectly okay with us using it outside of meal times, we just can't be out after curfew, though as an apprentice, I'm not sure how you're affected by curfew. Over there on the wall is the Notices Board," she continued, pointing towards a large cork board covered in fluttering papers, quietly screaming out for attention. "Anything they want us to know about it posted there, so it's a good idea to check it regularly. They're somewhat casual about seating, we don't **have** to sit with our houses, although it's still more or less encourage, house unity and all. But, we have friends in other houses, and we can sit with them if we want most of the time.

Smiling, she brushed a long red braid over her shoulder and picked up her knapsack, hanging it over one shoulder. "The house elves are really nice about snacks, you can ask for pretty much anything and they'll get it for you, just ask them nicely. They're not like the ones back home, who've been trained for servitude in the feudal system. These are American elves, and they're just as bloody independent as the rest of the Yanks. Let's head out this way, towards the grounds."

Following the light touch on his arm, he turned and fell into step beside her, passing out of the Great Hall and through the entrance to the courtyard he had first seen. "This is the Fountain, the symbol of unity of our founders, and all that rot. It's really all kind of malarkey anyway, seeing as Caterina Colubrae left the school for good after Pyramis Parador was chosen over her for Headmaster after Englebert Enigmus passed on. But whatever, yeh? This is a really good place to hang out, when the weather's nice. We're in Virginia for this year, so it's actually pretty nice all year round, with actual seasons and all, but some places we've been have just been awful. We move around each year, you know," she added in response to his perplexed look. "Muggles and wizards co-exist much more closely on this side of the pond; it's harder to keep things hidden, so we have to move around quite a lot. It's kind of fun, actually; my first year, we were in the crater of Mt. St. Helens. At any rate, just be careful about Jolly; he likes to run people into the fountain."

"Jolly?" Callum asked helplessly, starting to get a headache from all the new information.

She regarded him sympathetically, her vivid emerald eyes sparkling with amusement. "Jolly Roger. He's actually a pirate flag that was flew over the ship of the legendary pirate wizard Captain Ronan Ulliam Moriarty, and was somehow infused with its own spirit. He was given to the Headmaster by some pirates he and the profs were negotiating with, because they thought it might be Dark Magic, seeing as it was talking and all. He made Jolly his own ship, which he commands through the hallways, and he has his own motley little crew, but he takes a rather fiendish delight in running students into the fountain with the long nines."

Callum sat down abruptly on the edge of the fountain, feeling more than a little lost.

Kushiel sat down next to him with a smirk, though not entirely unkind. "It's a lot to take in, I know. It's fairly different than Hogwarts."

"How do you know what Hogwarts is like?" he asked absently, closing his eyes and leaning his head back into the sunshine.

"My twin goes there," she answered patiently, and it occurred to him a moment too late that she'd told him that earlier. "Rhon and I send each other a lot of owls."

"Why don't you go there as well?" he queried curiously. "I mean, if your twin goes there and all."

"It's a long story," she laughed. "How about we save that for later, and make your brain explode with only what you need to know for right now?"

"Sounds good," he agreed, running a hand through his auburn curls.

"Kush!"

They both turned to regard a girl running up to them, shoulder-length brown hair flying around her face in messy waves. Kush smiled easily. "Hey, Cliona!" she called back. "What's the rush?"

Panting slightly, the girl he remembered as Cliona stopped beside them, clutching her messenger bag to her hip. "We're covering werewolves today in Care of Magical Creatures, so Professor Ward let me out." She grinned wickedly. "He said I didn't need the review. Whatcha up to?"

"Just giving Callum a tour per the Headmaster's request," she shrugged. "Care to join?"

"Sure." Frowning, she adjusted her blue and white tie so that it wasn't joining with the bag strap to try and strangle her. "Where have you gotten to yet?"

"The Great Hall and the Fountain," came the prompt reply. "I think they showed him the infirmary, as well?" She continued, quirking an eyebrow at him. At his nodded, Kush turned back to Cliona. "I was going to take him down to Craefter's Cottage, then swing through the inside."

"Are you going to show him the-"

"In due time."

"Then what are we waiting for?" She pushed her slightly messy hair out of her eyes and grinned. "Come on."

Groaning, Callum got to his feet at the same time as Kush. It was just all too much to take in at one time. Fortunately, they didn't seem to expect him to need to know it all at once, so he at least had that reprieve.

A golden kestrel came diving out of the air and Kush's eyes lit up when she saw it, holding up her arm for it to land on. It nuzzled her fondly, dangerous beaking stroking through the loosely braided hair, before holding its leg out like an owl for a message to be untied. Letter in hand, the girl gave it a piece of jerky from a wrapped pocket of her bag and watched it fly away towards the owlery. "Do you mind horribly if I just pass you off to Cliona, Callum?" She asked, her face beaming.

"Not at all," he answered politely, though hr secretly did a little.

"Who's the letter from, Kush?" Cliona asked, her brown eyes dancing mischievously.

"Amos," she replied, sticking her tongue out quickly. "So there." Smiling once more at Callum, she turned and headed back into the castle, leaving the pair of them alone.

"Amos is her best friend from back home," Cliona explained. "He doesn't write fairly often, because he thinks that everyone here will believe they're together, but they think it far more with how rarely he writes. It's weird. Anyhoo, let me take you down to Mistress Craefter's."

Beckoning him to follow, she headed down the white path away from the school proper. Sighing, he had no choice but to follow. Walking side by side, they progressed down the path to where he could vaguely see a neat little cottage, standing all by itself. Scents drifted by them, his instinct automatically sifting through and labeling each one. There was something a little off about Cliona's scent, something that was different in its nature than he was used to. It had to do with the wolf, of that he was certain, but it didn't seem to be so much make-up as carriage.

She let him puzzle over it for a moment; she knew he was confused, she could smell it on him, but despite being in Enigmus, Cliona had a great many friends in Colubrae, and that sometimes showed through. "Ask," she told him finally.

He raised his eyebrows, but blurted it out nonetheless. "Why is your scent off?"

"Off?" she echoed, frowning thoughtfully. "I'm not really sure what you mean."

"There's something a little off with your scent," he explained. "Something that's not quite right. It's like it's a mix between Remus and Morri, and yet there's something else to it, too."

"And Morri is…"

"Remus and Ginny's daughter."

"Ah, that's it, then," she chuckled, "The piece from Morri is simply that I'm a female werewolf; we give off a slightly different scent than males. The piece from Remus is, I'm guessing, the fact that I'm the Alpha Heir right now."

He stopped dead on the path, staring at her incredulously. "But you're female. Females aren't Alpha."

"They can be in my pack," she shrugged, continuing on so that he had to jog to catch up with her. "Back in Ireland, when the Scottish Wolf Plague was so bad, there was a time when the pack was all women and children, all the boys too young to be Alpha. Cubs can't be Alpha. So Bevin McCullough took charge, and following her vision, they came to America, where we've been very happily settled ever since. From that point on, Alpha has simply been whoever was best for it, fought for it the hardest and smartest. My oldest brother Conri disappeared, so we had to find a new Heir, and I won it."

Observing her thoughtfully, Callum saw the faint flare of her nostrils, the way her hand batted away the hair falling into her face. "You don't seem all that thrilled."

"I don't really want to be Alpha," she confessed. "I want Conri to come home and take it back up. I've got other things I want to do with my life."

"Well, where is he?"

"We don't know."

He could smell the partial lie on her, but let it pass. After all, it wasn't really any of his business. "What was it like, growing up in a pack?"

"Probably much the same as growing up in a large family," she shrugged. "Didn't you grow up with a pack since you've been bitten?"

"A very small pack, yes, and we were surrounded by non-lycans."

"So were we, outside home. We interact with other wizards and muggles all the time. They just know to stay out of our woods during the full moon. Here we are." She stopped outside the door of the perfectly painted white cottage, pulling him back just as a loud explosion caught him off guard, the door poofing out before settling back into its frame.

"This is normal?"

"This is normal," she affirmed. "Mistress Craefter is always trying new things, and some of them come out a little more spectacularly than others." She leaned forward and knocked politely on the door. "Ma'am? Would you like to meet our new infirmary intern?"

"Um, how about at dinner tonight?" a voice called through the door. "I'm afraid I've rather a lot of cleaning up to do."

"All right." Taking Callum's arm, Cliona started walking back the way they'd come. "She's a little odd, but you get used to her eventually."

By the time Cliona announced that it was time for dinner, she'd dragged him back into the castle and gone from the dungeons straight up to the top of the towers, showing him everything of interest. He knew, though it was doubtful he'd remember, where every classroom was, where every rough spot of prime mischief area was, and which paintings were fun to talk to and which would bore you to tears. She'd pulled him back outside to the Quidditch pitch, showing him the framed Quidditch jersey, number 42, that was the only number Avistrum had ever retired, belong to Professor Ward. That Care of Magical Creatures professor and Head of Enigmus House was also a professional keeper for the Toledo Terrors. It truly boggled the mind.

He'd also learned a great deal about Cliona through their idle conversation. She was a seventh year Enigmus student, the Avistrum equivalent of Ravenclaw, with no idea what she wanted to do after she graduated. She didn't seem terribly worried about it, deciding to go on to the Salem Witch's Institute for further study. She told him that it was practically an American tradition to go into university level studies without knowing what your career goals were. Callum couldn't even begin to fathom it; he'd known what he'd wanted to do since he was six.

She also told him stories about the staff. He'd mentioned the girl in the infirmary, along with her reason for being there, and Cliona had nearly fallen down laughing. She assured him that this was a perfectly normal reaction for that story; Professor Bloodthorne, the head of Colubrae and professor of Divinations, was not a man to be hugged, yet for some reason, Susan Jevoli kept trying.

"Kush once compared him to a teddy bear with a spiked collar," she elaborated. "You really want to hug the bear, but you really don't want to get stuck by the spikes and the retribution to follow. She lost our house fifty points for that little stunt the first time she tried it, and it just keeps getting worse. There's no possible way that Enigmus will ever win the house cup while she's got this goal going."

"Why are you still having classes?" he asked abruptly, his brain reminding him of the month. "Hogwarts is done in the beginning of June."

"We're actually done halfway through May, but these are optional summer courses. The professors decided to keep the school open in the summer for students who either can't go home or really don't want to, or if they need extra lessons in something. That and some of us just really didn't want to leave." She smiled slightly, her brown eyes closing as she breathed in the smells wafting towards them from the Great Hall. "I love my pack, but this is pack, too. This is home."

They entered the Great Hall and he realized he had no idea where he was supposed to sit. Kushiel had told him that things were more casual here, but he couldn't really imagine staff sitting with their students, especially not with the High Table being in such prominence in the far end of the room.

"Callum! Cli!" A voice called, and a blonde waved at them excitedly from the Parador tables. "Come join us!"

"Want to?" Cliona asked him.

"Am I allowed to?"

"Sure. Summer time, even the profs sit haphazardly. It's one of the many reasons why summer time is so much fun." She tugged on his arm and led him over to the red and gold table, plopping down next to Kushiel. "Who's this?" she queried, noting the much smaller person on Kushiel's left.

"This is Morrigan Lupin," the redhead answered, tousling the more coppery locks of the child. "I'm teaching her the art of Dots."

"She says she's going to teach me to whoop you," Morrigan informed Cli matter-of-factly, and Kushiel snickered into her hand.

"Is that so?"

The blonde girl took Callum's hand and sat him down next to her, across the table from a girl he knew he probably should recognize, and yet couldn't. "You probably don't remember me, my name's Aurelia, and this is Carriegan."

"That's right," he groaned, shaking his head. "A metamorphmagus, no wonder I couldn't place the face. And you changed your perfume."

"How do you know I changed my perfume?" she demanded.

"Werewolf," Callum and Cliona answered in unison.

Aurelia giggled. "Pirate," she added, though Callum couldn't even begin to recognize the reference.

"Muggle movie," Cliona whispered. "It's all right." Reaching down into her messenger bag, she pulled out a piece of paper, rather than parchment, that was covered in evenly spaced dots forming a disconnected grid, as well as a quill and a bottle of blue ink. "You're on, Kush."

"You don't scare me, I retaught you this game, remember?" the other girl retorted, retrieving her own quill and a bottle of dark green ink. "Here, Morri, this will give you a good chance to practice." Much to Callum's amazement, she handed the quill to Morrigan and let the eight year old clamber into her lap to be closer to the parchment.

"How many younger sibs do you have?" he asked, laughing.

"None, actually, just my twin. But troublemakers take care of our own."

"Are you from the London Sleipaks?" Carriegan asked him, her dark blue eyes narrowed.

"More or less," he answered evasively. He'd made amends with his family, but they were only blood, and poor substitute for pack. It wasn't something he was proud of saying, but it was the truth as he saw it.

"You know what? I think today is a shepherd's pie day," Aurelia announced randomly.

"You get used to that, too," Cliona whispered in his ear, and he quickly coughed to cover a snort of laughter.

He felt a cool hand on his shoulder and smiled up at Ginny. "And how is your day going so far?"

"I'm more lost than my first day at Hogwarts," she admitted with a laugh. "There, at least, I had my brothers' knowledge to help me get around." The woman frowned slightly. "Morri, did you ask?"

"Miss Kush, is it okay if I sit in your lap?" the child asked in response.

Smiling, the young woman nodded. "It's perfectly alright, Morri."

"Yes, Mama, I asked."

All four girls laughed at the reply. "She's a future Colubrae, all right," Carriegan gasped, holding her side.

Smiling, Ginny nodded. "Yes, I had her pegged for Slytherin as well, though she may have inherited one of two Gryffindor tendencies."

"And Remus?" Callum asked the healer.

"Dying to poke around the Headmaster's office," she chuckled. "He couldn't stop staring at everything. You know how he is around things like that."

"How did he react to Lysander?"

Whatever response he had been expecting, it wasn't to see the thirty-six year old sit quickly on the bench, doubled over in silent laughter. When she could breathe again, she wiped the tears from her eyes. "He jumped back like he'd been bitten and stared at him, then told him not to pick on something that could bite back, or he might end up being a furry mounted head for three days out of the month. Then Tom got very close and inspected him, and loudly announced that he wasn't anything compared to Uncle Snape!"

Callum dissolved into laughter, easily able to imagine the precocious six year old saying such a thing. And it was, to an extent, quite true. Severus Snape had significantly mellowed in his personal life, though he was still as snarky as ever, but his professional attitude had remained precisely in place, and he routinely sent boys and girls of all ages out of his classroom in tears. His wife just shook her head and smiled at such things.

"Then Lorcan scolded Tom, saying that he needed to be polite to the pointy-teethed man, even if it was true!"

The boys in question came up to the table then, followed by their father. "Morri, are you going to eat with us up at the High Table?"

"Can I please eat here?" she pleaded prettily, her hand pausing over the parchment.

"It wouldn't be any problem, Professor Lupin," Kushiel offered.

"All right, Morri. Love?"

"I'll be there in a moment, Remus," Ginny waved him on. She turned to Callum, her amber eyes grave. "You're doing all right, though?"

"No, Ginny, I fell in with a mad bunch of miscreants and delinquents, and we are currently plotting on how best to sacrifice small animals to the forgotten gods," he replied with a straight face, and she lovingly smacked him upside the back of his head.

"Enjoy your dinner, since I assume you're eating here. And from what the professors and staff tell me, miscreants might not be too far off," she added, winking at the girls. She rose gracefully to her feet, absently kissing her daughter's forehead, and made her way to the High Table to join the rest of her family.

The last of the staff appeared to take their seats and the meal began, but Callum's plate remained empty. He glanced around and saw that Morrigan's, too, held no food. "What am I missing?" he asked,his voice heavy with resignation.

"You have to think about what you want," Carriegan informed him, daintily eating her Caesar salad. "Then the house elves will send it up to your plate."

Morrigan closed her eyes and frowned in hard concentration, then opened them to find steaming fish and chips on her plate. "Yay!" she cheered, popping a vinegar laden chip in her mouth. "They do real food, too!"

Aurelia laughed around her shepherd's pie. "That's what Kush said her first night here, too. The food's not really that different, is it?"

"Very different," Callum and Kushiel answered in one voice. They looked at each other and grinned. "Have you decided what you want?" she continued.

"Not really, so I guess I'll just have the first American food I ever tasted." Remembering that first picnic long ago at the lake, his plate was suddenly filled with French fries, a hamburger, and a hot dog. He applied himself more to the food than to the conversation as he ate, listening to everything going on around him. Cliona and Kush, with the extension of Morrigan, were involved in a highly competitive game of Dots, though both occasionally made rather pointed contributions to the conversation. He wasn't really sure what Aurelia and Carriegan were talking about, only that the word "punkin" was mentioned quite frequently, and immediately followed by spates of giggles.

It was quite unnerving, actually.

"Ha!" Kushiel declared triumphantly. "Eighteen to seventeen, we win."

Mock-grumbling, Cliona reached down into her messenger bag and pulled out a sheet of star stickers, pulling off two green ones and planting them firmly in the center of the winners' foreheads. "All right, I concede the defeat."

"You do this often, then?" He eyed the sheet of stickers, fully half of which were missing.

"Fairly often, yeh," Kush replied. "It's a habit. Healthy competition and all that rot."

Morrigan started nodding off as dessert began appearing on the plates, and Callum glanced up towards the front of the room to observe Tommo fast asleep in Ginny's lap and Lorcan blinking rapidly in an effort to stay awake.

"I should probably help them get the children to bed," he told the girls quietly, and Kushiel assisted him in scooping the drowsy child out of her lap. Remus caught his eye and nodded, taking Lorcan by the arm as Ginny stood with Tom. "I'll see you tomorrow, I'm sure."

"Of course you will, Callum, you're not rid of us that easily," Aurelia giggled.

"Night," the other girls chorused.

He followed Remus and Ginny to their quarters, knowing his own were nearby but having no recollection on how to find them, and helped them tuck the children into their own beds, brought with them from the house in Hogsmeade. The day's adventures were telling on them all, he decided; both Remus and Ginny seemed tired as well. He bade them goodnight and found his own rooms one door down, setting the password to Packsong. It was always his password, for it meant a great deal to him, but was unlikely to come up in casual conversation.

Undressing and sliding into his bed, he laid back against the pillows, closing his grey and blue eyes. It had been a long day, yes, but an interesting one. The cluster of seventh year girls scared him somewhat, but he could probably get used to them, and the children seemed to like it here. His last thought falling asleep was that he hoped things would stay this quiet.


	2. A Slight Misunderstanding

**Disclaimer: Neither Harry Potter nor Avistrum are mine, hence why I'm crying like a little girl.**

_A/N: Please review! And don't forget, your vote counts; you determine who Callum ends up with. But, I should also note, Kushiel is not in the running. The students got together and we decided it's not really fair, for a couple of reasons. So, sorry if you like her, but she will not be ending up with Callum as any more than a friend._

Chapter Two: A Slight Misunderstanding

Callum was finding that there were certain things about Avistrum that he simply could not get used to. This morning, for instance, after arguing with the rather sassy mirror about watching him while he showered, he'd gotten dressed and opened his door, only to narrowly avoid being run down by a madly chortling leprechaun waving a shoe. He mentioned it at breakfast to Carriegan, who merely shrugged.

"That's Fineus," she explained, sipping her coffee. "That's what he does, along with guarding highly valuable artifacts for the Headmaster. And his own gold, of course."

"So why the shoe fetish?"

"All leprechauns have that," she answered dismissively. "It comes from their tradition of being cobblers. If you throw a show at them, they have to polish and mend it. Fineus just interprets that as not saying when he has to give the shoe back. I hear he's got quite a collection."

Aurelia trudged in and collapsed on the table next to them, her blonde hair pooling around her in disarray. Her red and gold tie hung from her neck, the knot not even attempted, and the answer to Carriegan's 'good morning' was merely a grunt.

"Not a morning person, I take it?"

"Not so much, no," came the amused reply from the metamorphmagus. "Then again, I'm hardly one to talk."

He blinked owlishly. "You seem fine to me."

"That's because I've had my coffee."

Picking at his eggs, toast, and bacon, he glanced around the room. "Where are Cliona and Kushiel?"

Carriegan set down her mug and bit delicately into an English muffin. "Cliona is probably still sleeping, and Kush has been and gone; she said she was working on something."

A girl with short, dark hair plopped down next to Carriegan on the bench, her clothing immaculately tailored and accessorized with what was obviously great care. A small green head poked slowly out of her designer purse, revealing a snapping turtle. "Carr, darling, have you seen my stilettos?"

"Not since the last time you wore them."

Dark brown eyes regarded him much as he regarded lone rabbits on his monthly hunt, and he found himself flushing awkwardly. "Who's this?"

"This is Callum Sleipak," Carriegan introduced formally. "Callum, this is Sabina Bonnefay. She's a fellow seventh year Colubrae. She's not taking courses, though, simply visiting for a week or so. And this is Robert," she added, pointing to the turtle.

"Hello," he greeted, nodding in acknowledgement. He turned around as a hand lightly tapped his shoulder. "Good morning, Nurse Kayenta."

"Good morning, Callum," the woman replied in her soft voice. "Are you ready to learn the layout of the infirmary?"

"Yes, ma'am." He took one last bite of toast, thoughtfully offering the rest to Robert as he stood. "I'm sure I'll see you later," he told the girls, taking off after the nurse.

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There was something very peaceful about doing inventory. Most people considered it a form of torture, a necessary evil that was to be suffered through and done as quickly as possible. Perhaps it was the influence of Hermione, however, that gave him the perspective he had. It was a time to reflect, to pull chaotic thoughts into order and have a more detailed understanding of exactly what you had to work with. He hadn't served too many detentions in Hogwarts, but those he had were almost always with Hermione, cataloguing and inventorying the stores cupboard.

He sat now with clipboard and quill, ticking off tallies and noting out of date or nearly empty potions and salves. A slim girl with huge blue eyes came into the cupboard partway through the task, standing in the doorway and watching him for several moments before finally speaking. "Are you Callum?" she asked in a sweet voice.

"Yes, I am," he answered, tucking the quill behind one ear. "You must be Elena."

"Elena Silverstaff," she agreed, holding out one hand, though a little shyly. "Nurse Kayenta told me you'd be in here. Would you like any help?"

Glancing down at his list, he shook his head after a moment's thought. "I'm nearly done, actually, although what do we do with empties?"

She followed his gaze to the jars he's collected off to one side. "I'll take them to Professor Greywolf," she told him quietly. "He's our Potions Professor, and he makes most of the potions for the infirmary." Gathering them up into her arms, the sweet brunette left him to his chore, pacing off with her arms laden.

It was the sniffling that caught his attention sometime later, so soft he probably wouldn't have heard it but for the wolf prowling within. Gently laying down the clipboard, he tucked the quill behind his ear once more and padded out of the cupboard on silent feet. His nostrils flared, seeking out the direction of the other person, and led him to the edge of a bed. He looked down and found a small boy curled up on the floor, his back against the nightstand and his head buried in his arms. Slowly, so as not to startle him into running, Callum crouched down next to him.

"Hey."

The boy jumped, but Callum laid a reassuring hand on his arm.

"It's all right, I'm an apprentice here," he told him, modeling his voice after Ginny's. Soft and low, in both pitch and volume, she'd explained, were the tricks to soothing fears, because there was nothing surprising or frightening about it. His voice had deepened out over the years to a light baritone, and he let it wash over the boy now, calming him. "My name is Callum; what's yours?"

The boy murmured something that even Callum's sharp ears couldn't catch.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm Grayson," he repeated, barely louder.

"What's the matter, Grayson? Are you hurt?" the young man inquired, rubbing his hand slowly up and down the boy's arm. Grayson relaxed into the touch, staring at Callum with red-rimmed eyes.

"It's stupid," he muttered, dashing his hand at his eyes.

"I doubt it," Callum smiled. "You don't seem like a stupid boy to me, you knew to come to the infirmary."

"I don't think the nurse can help me," he confessed. "I just…well…I miss my parents."

His thighs starting to strain with the effort of sustaining the crouch, Callum sat down on the floor next to the child, his arm around his shoulders. "How old are you, Grayson?"

"Almost twelve, sir. I'll be starting my first year in the fall."

"And you're here already?"

Grayson stared at his feet, scuffing his beat up Converse against the floor. "They wanted to go to Europe for the summer," he explained flatly. "With my sister and her pureblood fiancée. They didn't want me with them."

"What makes you say that?" Callum asked carefully, squeezing the boy's shoulder as a reminder that he was there for support.

"Why else would they leave me here?"

"Maybe they wanted you to not have to be lost when term started," the young healer suggested thoughtfully. "This way, you're meeting people and getting to know your way around the school ahead of time."

"But they haven't written, either. They could at least do that."

Callum gently pulled the boy to his chest, giving him time to resist if that was what he wanted, and rued his hand soothingly down his back. "I don't know your parents, Grayson," he told him quietly. "But I do know that everyone here seems to be rather a family. I think once you've got some friends here you'll find that you don't miss your parents quite so much."

"But I don't wanna be a bad son," the boy sniffed.

"That doesn't make you a bad son, Grayson, it simply means that you're growing up. We all have to do that sometime, and that's part of what going off to school is all about."

"I guess," Grayson sighed.

Narrowing his eyes, Callum thought quickly through his options. He knew this was something best left to its own healing, but it couldn't be wallowed in, either. "Wait here for a moment," he said finally. Easing gracefully to his feet, he walked over to the supply cabinet and pulled out a vial of the freshly inventoried Calming Potions bringing it back over to the boy. "Here," he offered, handing him the vial. "This will make you feel a bit better, and then you'll be able to think about it a little more clearly.:

Unstoppering the cork from the vial, Grayson made a face but drank it down anyway, screwing up his nose as he forced himself to swallow. Promising him that he could come back if he wanted to, Callum sent him on his way and made a quick notation on his chart. His first official patient, and he couldn't help but feel that he'd done well by it. Whistling lightly, he pulled the quill from behind his ear and went once more to the supply cabinet to finish the long job.

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"Admit it, you think he's cute," Kushiel accused, absently twisting out a tube of lipstick to inspect the color. She sat tailor style on the broad counter in the bathroom of the Colubrae seventh year girls, sorting through some of the make-up she'd had to sift aside.

Lounging on the edge of the huge bathtub, Cliona made a face. "It's his second day."

"Admit it, you think he's cute," the redhead repeated, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"Callum and Cliona, sittin' in a tree," singsonged the third member of their little tête-á-tête.

Cliona and Kushiel both stared at Aurelia for a moment, and let it pass without comment. Aurelia was muggleborn, and even in as mixed an atmosphere as Avistrum, you could always tell. "He smells good," Cliona hedged.

"And seeing as you're both werewolves, scent plays an important part," Kush retorted, not buying it. "Come on, Cli, just admit it."

"It's his second day! It's not possible to like him yet!"

"Aha!" Ignoring the face the other girl made, the Colubrae pressed her advantage. "I didn't say you had to admit to liking him, only to admitting you think he's cute! So you like him!"

"I do not!"

"I though Enigmites were supposed to be smart," Aurelia added, giggling brightly.

Sighing, Cliona loosened her blue and white tie. "You just had to go and keep using that word, didn't you, Kush?"

"What, smart?" She snickered at the look of long suffering gracing the girl's features. "Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist."

"I met him yesterday," Cliona lamented, running a hand through her messy brown hair. "This really isn't fair. First Aidan, now this."

"I really don't see how the two are even remotely comparable," Kushiel sniffed dismissively. "Aidan was your best friend who turned into creepy stalker pernicious suitor, which is nowhere near as nummy as Pernicious S'mores. Callum is a complete stranger that you happen to feel an attraction towards, and who you feel may merit an equal rank to S'mores."

"We're comparing them to food; what the hell is wrong with us?"

Kushiel shrugged, quirking an eyebrow at a tube of bright blue lipstick. "We're hormonal, chocolate happy, teenage girls, I'd say we're pretty normal. Who actually wears this color?"

"Sabina, occasionally," Cliona answered absently, "and what should I do?"

"Let him get settled," Aurelia suggested wisely, a rarity for her. "Then move in for the kill."

"Aurelia!"

"What?"

"He's not a rabbit!"

"No, he's a boy," the blonde answered matter-of-factly. "Which means he's even easier to catch and play with, and you don't have to worry about someone wanting to cut off their feet for good luck."

This time, the silence stretched out between them, the other two simply regarding her bemusedly. "So, blue lipstick," Kush said finally, and all three of them laughed.

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This time it was the click of heels that alerted him to someone's presence. After lunch, a very informal meal, Nurse Kayenta had settled Callum at his desk in the infirmary, one of three present, with a tome on anatomy. His first area of study was to be the hand, and she would allow him to move up from there.

It was very different than Madam Pomfrey's approach, he reflected, listening to the tap tap tap of the heels and trying to see if he could determine their owner so soon. The former Hufflepuff started you off on the most simple charms, merely superficial things and worked her way downwards in both practice and theory. Nurse Kayenta started you off on the inside working out in theory, and the outside working in with practice. Both made sense, but it was a little confusing.

As the heels brought their owner a little closer, he caught a whiff of very expensive perfume and smiled. "Hello, Carriegan."

The tapping stopped for a moment before resuming to bring the metamorphmagus to the edge of his desk. "You didn't even look," she noted, perching atop the polished surface.

"I could smell you," he replied, sliding in a bookmark to keep his page and closing the book. "What can I do for you?"

"Grayson Ader told me he came to the infirmary today, and that you gave him a potion," she told him, inspecting a perfectly manicured nail.

"Yes," he replied, slightly puzzled. "Where is this going?"

"Grayson Ader will most likely be in Colubrae, and we have somewhat of a tradition in Colubrae."

"I can imagine," he murmured near inaudibly, all too aware of several similarities to Slytherin House.

"We don't baby along our first years, Callum, and we need you to help us with that. They're never going to learn not to put their hand on the burner if people keep immediately applying burn salve to it and taking away the pain. The pain is how they learn."

"He was homesick," he said neutrally.

"He was being a cryalong," she corrected coolly. "It's tough love, sure, but it's the way they learn," she repeated, gazing at him from underneath long black lashes. "Will you help us with that?"

"I will act however Nurse Kayenta instructs me," he answered instead, his voice as expressionless as hers.

"Maybe you were misplaced in Ravenclaw," she noted, sliding off the edge of the desk. "You do them no favors by holding their hands, Callum. Then they just keep on crying back."

"That's why we're here, Carriegan. We're here when students are injured, we're here when they're sick, and we're here when they simply need someone to talk to." He regarded her levelly, his blue and grey eyes hard, and she nodded thoughtfully.

"We'll see," was all she said, as her heels carried her click clicking out the door.

Sighing, he sank back into his chair, knowing it was next to useless to try and open the book until he'd sorted things out in his mind. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of the little interlude. It was well known that Slytherin House did not cry, at least not where anyone could see them, and he could only assume the same held true for Colubrae. However, they still went to the infirmary when they needed to, and he couldn't see the sense in refusing aid to a child who was merely homesick for the first time.

"She gave that same speech to me a few years ago," a quiet voice interrupted his thoughts.

He craned his neck around to see Elena placing her bookbag on her own desk. "And what did you say?"

"Nothing," she answered, her voice tripping lightly over a laugh. "She scared me half to death then."

"She's a frightening individual," he agreed ruefully, and she laughed again.

"You get used to her, after a while. Then you catch her writing out a detention essay and find out she's just as human as the rest of us."

He joined in her laughter, and that was the sight that met Robin Kayenta when she came in the door with a sheaf of notes in her hand. "Now that's what I like to see," she commented approvingly. "I knew you two wouldn't have any difficulty getting along."

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Tommo Lupin was a curious child, and like most curious children, stumbled across more than his fair share of trouble. Oh, it had begun innocently enough, like it usually did, with seeing something that made him want to investigate more. Upon seeing the beautifully detailed pirate galleon just floating about the school, Tommo had simply wanted to see if there was real treasure in the hold.

He really hadn't been prepared for the voice that snapped out from the flag. "Avast there, ye scurvy dog! What be ye think ye're doin!"

Tommo was no stranger to enchanted objects, but this was a new one, even for him. Reaching out his finger to stroke the slightly tattered material, he suddenly found himself at the business end of several large cannons. "I'm sorry, sir," he said as politely as he could manage. "I didn't mean to offend."

A sleek black cat peered at him from the quarterdeck, hissing balefully as he tail twitched. To the child's utter amazement, a small brown mouse skittered across the rigging and down to a silver skinned man with a cutlass thrust through his sash. The flag slapped at his fingers, and the voice emerged again. "Arr, after the lousy thief!" it cried.

Being a smart boy, Tommo did the best thing possible. He ran.

The ship, however, charged after him, the tiny silver-skinned man racing up the rigging to let out more sail. The cat's black paw patted against the tiller, swinging the rudder to steer them through the halls and right out into the courtyard. A small boom caught the frightened boy's attention, and a sharp pain in his shoulder sent him falling straight into the fountain.

"Jolly!"

Tommo felt strong arms tug him out of the fountain, sopping wet, even as he heard a voice strongly berating the ship. He opened his dark brown eyes to find himself in the arms of Cliona, his nostrils flaring with the innate scent of her wolf. In front of them, the redhead he recognized as Morrigan's new friend stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at the ship and its occupants, while a blonde girl stood slightly behind her, watching everything going on with wide eyes.

"Jolly, all you had to do was ask him not to touch, you did not have to bring out the long nines!"

"He were after me treasure, lass!" the flag roared defiantly. "And I'll use the Toms on who I wish!"

"Don't you threaten me, Jolly, or I'll tear you into shreds and use you as dish rags," she threatened.

"What is going on?" A new voice asked bemusedly.

Tommo finally blinked the water out of his eyes and focused on the Headmaster, standing with his hands in the pockets of his purple vest and watching the scene with a slight smile on his face.

"The landlubber were after me treasure, Headmaster!" the flag bellowed.

"He was being a curious six year old, and Jolly ran him into the fountain with the long nines, complete with shooting him in the shoulder," Kushiel retorted, pointedly ignoring the cannons aimed straight at her.

The smile left the Headmaster's face and he glanced over to Tommo, seeing the blood seeping through his shirt. "Jolly, when I made you that ship, you swore an oath to abide by my rules, and one of those rules was that you could not harm any of the people under the care of this school."

"But, Cap'n, he were after me-"

"All you had to do was ask and he would have left you alone," Clark told him firmly, not allowing the interruption. "You're on dry dock now, Jolly, until such time as I see fit to allow you back into the halls. Get into my office."

The grinning skull turning to a sulking scowl, the ship backed away and turned, heading into the school. "Aurelia, Cliona, please take Mister Lupin to the infirmary. Kushiel, I'd like to speak with you in my office, please."

"Yes, sir," the three girls murmured.

Cliona handed Aurelia her messenger bag and scooped the six year old into her arms, the trio walking slowly back into the school. Cliona threw a sympathetic glance at her fiery friend over her shoulder before passing through the doors.

Taing a deep breath, Kushiel picked her backpack up and slung it over her shoulder, following the Headmaster into the school.

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Callum looked up sharply at the scent that assailed his nose even before anyone appeared in the doorway of the hospital wing. It was familiar, something he had been around every day, and it was laden with the heavy tangs of fear and pain. "Tommo?"

Cliona rounded the corner with the pale boy in her arms, gently laying him down one on the beds. "Aurelia, can you-"

"Yeah, go for it," the blonde girl replied, handing back the messenger bag. She watched Cliona dash out of the room, perching on the edge of the bed.

"What happened?" Callum demanded, his hand already running lightly over the injury. "Off with your shirt, there, Tommo."

Aurelia politely turned her head away, though it wasn't strictly necessary. "Jolly ran him into the fountain with the long nines," she explained. "It's not too bad, though, is it?"

"No, it's not that bad," he answered absently, using his wand to retrieve the small cannon ball. "How badly does it hurt, Tommo?"

"Not too bad," the boy answered bravely, but the pallor of his face belied that answer.

"You'd best be giving an honest answer to that, me boy," a stone-faced Ginny Lupin ordered as she strode into the room. She sat next to her son on the bed, holding him close to her as Callum continued to inspect the injury. "I taught you better than to lie to healer for the sake of seeming brave. We have to know."

"It hurts a lot," he admitted in a small voice. "All I was doing was looking, Mama, and I apologized, but then he started chasing me!"

"Cliona told me," she whispered soothingly, her cool hands pushing his light brown hair away from his face. "It'll be all right, Tommo, it's okay."

Retrieving a mild pain potion, Callum came back to give it to the boy, performing the charms to knit skin and muscle back into place as soon as it took effect. Ginny watched him closely, as she always had when he was doing a healing, and he lathered a salve on the surface to eliminate the scar that could have formed.

"You all right now, Tommo," she asked, still smoothing his hair off his forehead.

"Yes, Mama," he yawned, settling back into the pillow. Healings always made him sleepy, for some reason.

"Then I need to go have a conversation with a certain talking flag," she declared ominously, and for a moment, Callum almost felt sorry for the animate object. "Cliona told me he's in the Headmaster's office."

"Yes, ma'am," Aurelia affirmed. "He's on dry dock there until the Headmaster releases him."

"Thank you." Kissing the top of her son's head, she nodded briefly to Aurelia and headed out of the room.

"She's a little scary, I think," Aurelia noted lightly, and Callum laughed.

"Yes, she can be very scary; just ask her brothers." Callum made the necessary notes in Callum's chart, watching him fall asleep. "So is Jolly in a lot of trouble?"

"Dry dock drives him crazy," she said instead of answering directly. "A week or so of that and he'll swear to anything just to feel the wind in his sails again, and the Headmaster will hold him to it. He was very upset, you know."

"Jolly?"

"No, the Headmaster!" she giggled, and he smiled. There was something very uncomplicated about Aurelia that he found a touch endearing. "He takes his responsibility to the students very strongly, all the professors do. That's why my parents let me come, even with Her about."

"Her? Persephone?"

"Sure," she shrugged. "It's no secret that the Dark Hunters have thwarted her in a lot of things; it's only a matter of time, really, before she comes after them directly. But he always keep us safe, and the parents trust in that. How do you think he gets away with having an entire werewolf pack here at the school? Or a vampire? Parents know we're safe in spite of that."

"Huh, even Dumbledore didn't get that kind of confidence," he commented. Then a thought occurred to him. "How is it that when I first met him, he had an Eye of Horus tattoo around his eye, but when I saw him later, it was gone?"

"Oh, that. I don't know the details, really, but I do know that it's a kind of additional protection. He only has it when he needs it, hence when he's out on Dark Hunter stuff. It just supplements the armor and stuff."

"I see," Callum replied, though he wasn't entirely sure he did, really.

She winked at him, seeing through him for a moment, and he flushed.

Sighing, he wished there were more older boys staying over the summer; the girls really were starting to scare him.

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Clark ended up having to put off his discussion with his student for a time, while the rather formidable Ginny Lupin raked the miscreant ship over the proverbial coals. By the time she was done, the flag was hanging limply from its mast and the crew had assembled in places other than the deck, not wishing to be a part of the scolding. Ginny didn't leave it at that, though; she knew very well that the crew had to have helped as well, so Bast, Renfield, and Genie received thorough lectures of their own. Clark was quite impressed, to be honest; scolding was a fine art, and the woman knew every nuance. Eventually, though, she smiled and thanked both him and Kushiel and left the office.

"Sit down, Kush," he invited, gesturing to the chair across the desk from his own. Hiding a smile, he watched her sink into it gracefully, her lower lip caught between her teeth in her only show of anxiety. "It's all right, Kush, you're not in trouble."

"Well, that's always a nice thing to hear," she quipped dryly, absently adjusting the hang of her hand beaded earrings.

"This is actually something I've been meaning to ask you about for a couple of weeks," he admitted. His dark brown eyes fell upon a paper on his desk and he pulled it towards him, scanning it quickly. "Professor Bloodthorne told me about your career advising session?"

Remembering the rather odd meeting with her Head of House, she smiled lopsidedly and nodded.

"Yes, he told me the two of you kept getting interrupted by Miss Jevoli and her cohorts," he continued with a grin. "However, he also told me that you wanted to go into further study with Potions and Defense Against Dark Magic; why is that?"

She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her crossed knees as she gathered her thoughts together. She had a quick wit, but she always took the time to think about what she was going to say before she let it come out of her mouth. "For some curses or hexes, there's a corresponding potion that produces the same result," she began slowly. "I want to see if that could hold true for other curses and hexes, and if so, could it also hold true for the antidotes? Some antidotes can be easily made into preventative potions, things that you have already in your blood stream to cushion against the curse. If this were possible, then you and the other Dark Hunters, and the other teams in SWAT and such not could go out with the preventatives already in your system. It wouldn't necessarily reduce physical injury, but it could help shield from the more blatantly magical effects."

"Such as what?" he asked, intrigued.

"Well, such as Cruciatus," she answered. "Right now, the only remotely antidotal potion just cuts the mind off from the body, shielding the mind from feeling the pain of the body, which is decent so far as it goes. However, the only thing that does is prevents the patient from going insane after the fact. It doesn't cushion the mind at all during application of the curse, and it doesn't lessen the pain. Internal and external injury is extremely common. But, if we were able to take the potion that does the same thing as the curse and create a preventative to it, then if the Cruciatus were cast on you, the block would already be in your magic. You might feel it a little bit, but it would be like being punched through a pillow. The result isn't nearly as dramatic." She flushed suddenly and ducked her head into her shoulder. "Well, that's my theory, anyway. I don't even know if it's possible, but I would like to try to find out."

Nodding thoughtfully, Clark studied his sheet of notes. Kraven had been very excited coming out from that conference and went straight to Clark's office, rather than waiting for their customary review of all the conferences together. That kind of research-tuned mind was exactly what they needed at the moment, and the professors were far too busy with lessons and their Dark Hunter activities to apply themselves fully to the task. "Do you think you'd be up to assisting us with some research, Kushiel?" he asked carefully, wondering if she would leap at the chance.

"I suppose that would depend on the research," she replied, just as carefully, and he hid his grin. There was no doubt that this young woman was in Colubrae.

With that in mind, he decided to lay his cards out on the table. He had been in Enigmus in school, and he'd always prided himself on his analysis. She would be far more inclined to help if there was no subterfuge, nothing hidden that she might find out later. "What it all comes down to is that we think we've been making a mistake for quite some time," he admitted, and she frowned slightly. "For many years, we've been trying to deal with Persephone in much the same way as we have every other Dark Lord or Lady before her. However, I think you can see that it's not really working. We took our theory to the government, but they refused to listen, so we need to try to understand it on our own."

"Meaning what makes her different?"

"Exactly. We know very little about Persephone, but what is known is right there in those drawers," he told her, pointing to a small file cabinet in the corner of his office. "We need someone who can go through the papers with a researcher's eye, see things that maybe we're missing. It's entirely possible that we're way off base here, but we agreed that we have to give it an attempt. As soon as Professor Bloodthorne told me of your career meeting, this task came to mind. I know you're not taking formal classes as such this summer, just working on Potions with Professor Greywolf and in-depth tutorials with Professor Lupin will be starting next week, so would you be willing to put some of your extra time towards this? The papers cannot leave this office, we're not even really supposed to have as many as we do, so you'd have to work in here," he cautioned. "And you wouldn't be able to discuss it with anyone not part of the staff; I would actually even prefer that be kept to a minimum. I know you girls tell each other things all the time, but this absolutely could not be included in that."

"I understand, sir," she told him, eyes darting back and forth as she considered the advantages and disadvantages.

He sat back in his chair, giving her all the time she needed. He hated having to put this kind of responsibility on a student, but she was steady, and admirably suited for it. There was simply too much to be done, too much going on, to put on his team members on it.

"When can I start?" she asked suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Clark eyed the mild disorder that was his office, the surfaces cluttered by gadgets, books, and papers, and shook his head ruefully. "How about tomorrow?" He suggested. "I should probably make a space for you to work."

"That sounds good," she agreed.

"Excellent. Now, I believe it's nearly time for dinner," he announced, holding the door open for her. "Oh, and Kush?"

"Yes, sir?"

His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Would you really have torn Jolly up into dish rags?"

"If he'd fired those cannons at me, yes, sir, I would have," she answered calmly, the corner of her lip twitching in a smirk. "I don't take any lip from enchanted objects."

Laughing, Clark gestured for her to precede him down the hall, turning to set his wards on the door.

"Miss Kush!" A young voice cried, and a redhead cam running around the corner to latch onto Kushiel's leg. "Can I please sit with you again?"

"Sure you can, Morrigan," she chuckled. "Do you have your Mam's permission?"

"She said as long as you didn't mind, she didn't, either."

Taking the eight year old by the hand, the seventeen year old winked back at Clark and continued down the hall with the child.

Clark smiled and shook his head. It was very pleasant to see the family of his newest staff member accepted with such ease.

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A lat night conference was taking place in the seventh-year Colubrae girls dorm, a conference that, strictly speaking, two of the girls should not have been attending. Aurelia, Carriegan, Cliona, Kushiel, and Sabina sprawled across Carriegan's queen-size bed, all of them in their pajamas and slippers.

"So," Carriegan began, "it would appear that the mirror in our bathroom is good friends with the mirror in Callum's bathroom," she stated. "And it would appear that Callum's mirror overheard a rather interesting conversation between Callum and Mrs. Lupin."

"What's that?" Sabina asked, yawning disinterestedly,

"She was asking him what he wants for his birthday next week."

Cliona and Aurelia sat up at that, smiling a trifle wickedly. "Really?" Cliona smirked. "Do we know when, precisely?"

"Wednesday."

Giggling brightly into her hand, Aurelia toyed with one of her pigtails. "Looks like we've got some planning to do."


	3. Candles and Confidences

**Disclaimer: Still not mine, unfortunately, either of the two coolest concepts in it. sigh.**

_A/N: Don't forget to review and vote!_

Chapter Three: Candles and Confidences

Over the course of the next week, the girls plotted and schemed over the news of the birthday, worrying at it like hens over a worm. It was Cliona who urged them to enlist the help of one Ginny Lupin, figuring she knew them better than any of them did. Besides, she argued, the woman was pure mischief, and would definitely appreciate any jokes they decided to include.

Thus it was that Ginny sweetly told her husband she was going for a walk on Monday afternoon, leaving their chambers for the fountain. It was true, so far as it went; the girls had asked her to join them for a walk about the grounds. Remus simply didn't need to know the discussion that would be passing the time during the idyllic stroll.

As a student, Ginny had always had a finger on the pulse of the Hogwarts Love Life. Not a crush, relationship, or break up occurred that she didn't find out about before nearly anyone else, not a single piece of juicy gossip escaped her ears. She had long ago learned to recognize the key signs pointing towards crushes and infatuations, and how to differentiate between all the levels of an affection. She knew very well that there were four girls with their sights set on Callum, and several more that might be leaning that way. What she desperately wanted to know, however, and was determined to find out, was how serious these intentions might be, and which way Callum might be leaning.

She knew her former charge better even than Remus did, for their own courtship had proved that the older werewolf was relatively clueless when it came to dating and relationships. He had learned, since, but still; some impressions stuck. As Callum suffered through the traditional pangs of hormones, he'd gone to Ginny with his questions and confidences. She knew what drew him in, but she also knew that he had a fairly wide range of interests.

Reaching the fountain, she smiled at the four girls gathered there, a little surprised to see Kushiel as one of them. She hadn't pegged the girl as being interested in Callum that way, but there had been the rare occasions when she'd been wrong before. She almost laughed aloud at the broad range of outfits the girls presented for their walk through the grounds.

Cliona, her shoulder-length hair in its messy waves around her face, sported slightly tattered jean shorts and a hoodie with the sleeves rolled up, wearing knee-length socks and battered converse sneakers, perfectly ready for a forest trek or low mountain hiking. Next to her, Kushiel wore short shorts and a white spaghetti strap shirt that proudly bore her House crest, strappy sandals crisscrossing around her ankles with her long red hair in a loose French braid, wispy curls escaping to frame her face. Seated on the broad edge, Aurelia wore tight white jeans and a pink tube top, her blonde hair in two pigtails that she toyed with as she waited. Carriegan looked like she had stepped right out of a magazine ad. Her ensemble, and it could only be called that, consisted of a short pleated white skirt, a short sleeved collared white shirt, and a sleeveless sweater vest trimmed in green. She wouldn't have been out of place on a tennis court, and yet here she was, waiting to traipse about the grounds. In her simple jeans and tank, Ginny wasn't sure where she fit into the tableau, but it was an image that would continue to amuse her for hours to come.

"Ready, girls?"

They nodded and set off down the long white path leading towards the front gates. When they were a safe distance away from the school, Ginny slowed their pace to one that was comfortable for talking. "Okay, spill."

"We found out about Callum's birthday and would like to give him something," Cliona replied at once, her brown eyes dancing. "Only, we weren't sure what he might like."

"And we thought you would," Aurelia added ingenuously, her wide blue eyes following the flight of a lazy bumblebee.

"Why do you want to give him anything?" she asked in mock confusion. "You barely know him."

Carriegan shrugged elegantly, bracelets whispering at her wrists. "Maybe it's a kind of welcome to the crew thing," she suggested.

"Well, was there anything you had in mind?"

"Something fun!" Aurelia giggled. "Something to make him laugh."

The other girls glanced at each other and nodded. "Something he won't be expecting," Carriegan continued.

"That won't be hard," the woman murmured dryly. "He won't be expecting anything from you."

"Mildly inappropriate wouldn't be amiss, either," Kushiel offered. "He blushes fairly easily; it's kind of fun."

"Merlin's beard, you all sound like me when I was younger."

The girls laughed and fell silent as they passed the stables that housed the magical creatures they studied. They waved to Professor Ward, who was perched on his broom applying new wards to the windows to prevent escape.

"We were also thinking about something he would have a history with," Carriegan continued once when they were past all possible earshot.

Ginny Lupin was a brilliant woman. Perhaps not as smart as Hermione, but absolutely unsurpassed when it came to pranks, not even by her infamous brothers. Grinning wickedly, she nodded slowly. "Girls, I have just the thing."

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Callum slowly bent the finger of the model hand, watching how the rubber bands that represented muscles stretched and bunched for each movement. There was something undeniably fascinating about this approach to healing. Nurse Kayenta told them that healers in America actually took a muggle licensing test as well, so that they could help muggles their way when the situation demanded it. The more he learned about America, the more interesting it became. It astounded him that nearly a fifth of all Americans were wizards, and the other four-fifths had absolutely no idea, despite the fact that almost all American wizards lived right in the midst of muggles.

He bent the finger backwards, seeing just how much pressure it took for the band to tear and finally snap, repairing it with his wand. He enchanted the model to flex and move just as if the hand were playing the piano and was amazed at what he saw, all the pieces that went into such seemingly simple gestures. No wonder his hands got sore after a time.

The hand started stalking towards him and he eyed it warily. Without warning, the muscles bunched and it launched itself at him, tickling his sides mercilessly. He fell to the floor, doing his best not to howl with laughter, trying to dislodge the questing hand, but it was to no avail, and writhed breathlessly on the floor, his stomach aching from laughing so hard. Finally, the hand fell limply to the floor beside him and he shot gasping to his feet to find Kushiel standing in the doorway snickering, Elena standing just behind her and giggling helplessly.

"That wasn't very nice," he muttered reproachfully. He was completely comfortable around her as he wasn't around the other girls. He was starting to think it was because she didn't look at him as prey.

"Probably not," she agreed, "But the temptation was just too much." She tucked her wand into the back waistband of her shorts and came into the infirmary, scooping up the model and placing it back on the desk.

"How can I help you, Kush?"

"I needed to see if you had anything for external muscle cramps," she answered without hesitation. "I'm going to be doing a lot of writing in the next few days, I've got some letters to catch up on, and I know Nurse Kayenta sometimes has a salve to relieve hand cramping."

"Let me check," he told her, heading over to the supply cabinet. With his back turned, he failed to see Kush wink at Elena and pull a strand of hair from the clutches of the model, spinning it around her wand to keep it safe. "Here it is," he called, taking a small jar of it in hand and bringing it to her. "That should be enough, right?"

"Should be," she agreed, weighing the jar in her hand. "If it's not, I'll simply come back. Thanks, Callum. See you later, Elena." Waving to both of them, she turned and headed out the door.

Elena handed him a rolled sheet of parchment with a shy smile. "This is from Nurse Kayenta," she told him quietly. "She went to meet up with an old friend of hers, and left these for you."

"Thanks, Elena." Unrolling the parchment, he scanned it quickly. It said simply that he should continue his study of the hand, and ask Elena to upgrade the model when he felt he was ready to continue. Sitting back down at his desk, he casually snapped one of the fingers nearly in half, performing the bone-mending spell and watching as the magic healed the bone from the inside out, melding it together seamlessly.

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"Here you are," Kush announced, sauntering into the room. With great aplomb, she handed the single hair to Carriegan, who shrugged and added it into the sluggishly bubbling cauldron in the bathroom.

"You act like it's such a feat."

"It was quite fun, actually," she chuckled, remembering the look on his face when the hand crawled towards him. "If that's all for that, then, I need to go; I've got some research to do. Oh, and Elena said she would look up his password for us; he had to give it Nurse Kayenta in case of emergency."

"Awesome," Aurelia grinned.

Cliona's eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you researching?"

"The next potion I'm working on with Professor Greywolf," she answered easily. "It's not like you need me right now; Carr's got the potion, Aurelia's got the charms, Elena offered to make them, and Cliona's going to deliver them."

"Get gone, then," Carriegan dismissed, waving a hand in a vaguely shooing gesture. Kushiel quirked a brow, but picked up her bag and left the bathroom.

"Is it almost done?" Aurelia asked prettily, her blue eyes wide.

"Almost," the Colubrae girl snapped. Ladling the more or less peach colored potion into a large beaker, she perched up on the countertop. "Ready?

"Ready," the other two affirmed, tape measures at the ready.

Slowly, carefully, Carriegan began pouring the liquid out of the beaker. It fell in a lazy stream to the floor, but instead of pooling there or splashing, it gradually built itself up into the a vaguely human body. There were no features, no greater extremities, but it was enough to give the dimensions they needed for their little project. "Okay," she ordered as the neck formed, "start measuring, I'm not entirely sure how long it lasts."

Quickly, the pair started stretching their tape measures across the pertinent body parts, jotting down measurements and double checking them. As they finished the last measurement, the body quaked and collapsed into a pouf of truly vile smelling gas.

"Did we get them all?" Carriegan demanded anxiously.

Cliona checked the two sheets and smiled. "We did indeed. Aurelia, you want to take these the Elena so you can get started?"

"Sure!" Folding the sheets, she tucked them into her waistband and all but skipped out of the room, heading off towards the infirmary to find Elena.

"So how much trouble do you think we're going to be in come Wednesday morning?" Cliona asked, closing her sensitive nostrils to the noxious odor.

"I don't think we'll get in trouble at all," the other girl answered calmly "Piewacket!"

A mottled green house elf in a snappy suit that wouldn't have been out of place on a high class maître'd appeared at her elbow. "Yes, Mistress, how can Piewacket help Mistress?"

"Clean these up and make sure it all gets put back correctly into my Potions supplies," she instructed. "And air out this room, it stinks."

"Yes, Mistress, Piewacket is too glad to help, Mistress."

Shaking her head imperceptibly, Cliona followed Carriegan out, lounging with her on the girl's bed. "It's technically breaking and entering."

"It's not breaking anything if you have the password. Besides, push comes to shove, Ginny gave us the idea."

"That I don't like; that could get Professor Lupin in trouble, and he just started."

"Then we'll come up with something!" She blew out a frustrated breath. "Honestly, Cli, we're in Colubrae, we'll get out of it somehow!"

"I'm in Enigmus, actually, and Aurelia's a Parador," Cli corrected mildly, ignoring the glare she received.

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Nodding politely to the statue of the sphinx, Kushiel stopped just outside the Headmaster's office. "Is he busy?" she asked quietly.

"He said you were to go in whenever you wished, as I've told you the last three times," the statue replied lazily, tail swishing against the wall with a heavy rattle.

"I simply don't wish to interrupt anything," she said mildly, pushing open the door. The Headmaster wasn't actually in, but she went straight to the desk he'd put into the corner by the filing cabinet.

"Back again?" A nasty voice demanded.

"Jealous of my freedom of movement, Lysander?" She shot back lightly. She was actually rather fond of the rude vampire head, in a way; he was always so much fun to talk to.

"Come closer, let me show you how to fly."

"Need a drink, boyo? Something in a nice AB positive?"

"I was thinking maybe with some Irish cream in it," he baited, and she snickered.

"Careful with the alcohol content, Batboy, you can't scratch your ears when they start itching. No hands, remember?"

"I never really needed them," he told her modestly. "I was always superlative with my mouth."

"Just as the Headmaster has always been superlative with a sword. But you don't need to be told that, do you, you found that out first hand."

"Ooh!"

She smiled to herself as she heard the rather distinctive sound of teeth grinding against themselves. He was always so much fun. Reaching down into her bag, she pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill, setting the inkwell next to her elbow. Before she could reach into the new drawer of the filing cabinet, a rumbling purr reached her ears and she glanced down. "Hello, Bast; how are you today?"

For answer, the Egyptian cat goddess jumped into her lap and rubbed up against her chin. The girl smiled and started gently scratching the animal behind the ears, and the purring grew even louder.

"I think she's really quite fond of you," a voice from the doorway commented, and she craned her neck to see the Headmaster.

"I think she's fond of a good rub," she laughed, still stroking the cat's sleek fur.

"Yes, but she doesn't let just anyone give her a rub," he countered, coming to stand beside her and softly run a finger between the creature's eyes. "When I said you would need to give up some of your free time, I didn't mean you had to give up all of it, Kush."

"It's interesting," she shrugged, opening her arms to allow Bast to jump down. "Besides, nothing wildly exciting is going on at the moment."

"No?" he asked. "No plots, no mischeifs, no plans to terrorize?"

"I'd be hardly likely to admit them if I had them, now would I, sir?" She answered with a laugh.

Smiling, he headed to his desk and watched her pull her previous notes out of the new drawer, reading back through them before she started into new information. It was starting to become a comforting habit, having someone else in the office while he worked. Well, someone other than Lysander, Jolly, and Genie. It was also very amusing to see Jolly cower every time the redhead walked into the office. With a sigh, he pulled his own paperwork towards him and started sifting through him.

As for Kushiel, she was very glad she'd agreed to do this research. She hadn't been brown-nosing when she said it was fascinating. There was something about every incident report that didn't ring quite right, but she couldn't put her finger on it. It was also nice to finally know more than the highly edited tales of their adventures that they were sometimes given. She winced at the catalogue of injuries from each mission; sometimes, they were luckier than others. The reports detailed a very different Headmaster than she was used to, someone fierce and implacable, rather than the perpetually mildly amused man in the purple vest. Not that she minded that shift; she actually rather admired it.

"There it is, again," she muttered under her breath, and Clark looked up.

"What is it?"

"Just another discrepancy," she sighed. "Some of these early reports say that she always had dead flowers pinned in her hair, before she dropped out of view. Others say that the flowers were dried."

"Is that significant?" he frowned.

"It could be, and if nothing else, it throws the rest of the reports into suspicion, because one inconsistency is usually followed by others." Laying down her quill, she gently pinched the bridge of her nose, digging into her bag to retrieve a slim pair of glasses.

"I didn't know you had glasses," he commented with a smile.

"Just when I've been reading a lot," she shrugged. "I just keep thinking about those flowers; nearly every early report mentions them, the question of dead or dried aside, and it just niggles at me. Like it should mean something."

"Then perhaps it does," he suggested. "You've got a good instinct for this, Kush; don't doubt it. Just don't get hung up on it, either."

"Yes sir," she sighed again.

Reaching down into the magic-run refrigerator under his desk, Clark pulled out two bottles of butterbeer and handed her one of them, safely out of reach of the papers. "Take a break for a little while," he ordered gently. "You've been at it for over an hour."

Smiling, she popped the cap off against the edge of the desk and took a long sip, feeling it slide all the way down her throat. "What got you into this, sir?" She asked after a moment.

"Into what?"

"Into the Dark Hunters," she clarified with a chuckle.

"Well, it was something that I always had a talent for," he said slowly, twirling the neck of his butterbeer. "Defense Against Dark Magic was one of my best classes when I was in school, and it was a talent I enjoyed. It seemed only natural that I go into Auror training after that. Eventually, I proved myself capable of leading a team so they gave me one."

"The Dark Hunters."

"The Dark Hunters," he affirmed, leaning against her desk. "But, the law, as necessary as it is, can be rather constricting sometimes, and we were having to let some of the dastards go because of loopholes or other technicalities. So, we split off from the government, and it became much more of a 'don't ask, don't tell' situation. They hire us fairly frequently, but it's on our terms and our rules, but as often as not, we're going off on our own."

"Yes, I've had the opportunity to hear Nurse Kayenta rant about when you go off without government reinforcements," she twitted him, amazed to see him blush slightly.

"Robin means well, but she worries," he said finally.

"And of course, you never give her any cause to."

He laughed and shook his head, black hair swinging around his face. "Of course not. Never."

"You lie like a Parador, sir."

At that, he actually had to put the bottle down before he dropped it.

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"They're perfect!" Aurelia squealed, watching from a safe distance as Cliona folded them into a box with a clever spell.

"Yes, they really are," Kush agreed, smirking as she saw the fruits of their labor. "How are you going to get it to him?"

"Elena gave us the password to his rooms," Cliona answered. "And thankfully, the Headmaster and profs are gone tonight on a mission, so there's far less chance of me being caught out after curfew."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Carriegan demanded, while Sabina looked on in bored amusement. "Get them to his room!"

"I'd prefer to wait until he's asleep," the Enigmus girl retorted. "He might be a little suspicious if his door opened and he saw a box floating in."

"True." Aurelia giggled. "Might be fun, though."

Finally, at half after midnight, Cliona left the Colubrae dorms with the box floating ten feet in front and nine feet up, relying on all her extra senses to make sure that she wasn't seen. It might be difficult to explain how she came to be prowling around after curfew levitating a gift-wrapped box around. Fortunately, she got to Callum's chambers without any difficulty and crouched outside of it, listening for any sounds of movement.

Hearing none, she whispered the word "packsong' and the door swung open. Praying hard under her breath, she crouched in the doorway and directed the box through the small living room and into what she hoped was the bedroom, setting it down on what she really hoped was the bed. Closing the door gently, she barely resisted the urge to start laughing and sprinted soundlessly down the hall, knowing that the house elves would be by soon to clean, removing her scent from the doorway. Now it was just a waiting game. She swung by the dungeons just long enough to let the others know it had worked, then she and Aurelia headed back to their own dorms. It seemed that for once she was going to have to make an appearance at breakfast.

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Callum woke up on the day of his eighteenth birthday and stretched languidly pushing the covers back. A dull thunk caught his attention and he looked down to see a box wrapped in paper sitting at a haphazard angle against the bed. Picking it up, he smiled at the fireworks exploding silently across the paper and looked for a note. There was none.

He shook his head and tore off the paper, setting the box on the bed to slide the top off the box. "Pajamas?" he murmured, holding them up. Made of smooth, thin flannel, they actually reminded him a great deal of Remus' old and pattered pajamas. Against a light green background, brown and white bunnies hopped around aimlessly, occasionally in pairs. He looked at it closer and dropped the pajamas in utter shock.

The rabbits were mating!

"Callum, get some clothes on, the children want to give you your birthday presents," Ginny called through the door, and he knew he had exactly three seconds before excited children started spilling into the room. Praying the kids wouldn't look too closely, he threw on the pajamas and slid quickly back under the covers, hiding as much of the fabric as he could. It hadn't escaped his notice that they were a perfect fit.

The outer door opened and three blurs came running into his bedroom, leaping up onto the bed, followed more sedately by their parents. "Happy birthday, Callum!" the children crowed, even Lorcan setting aside his dignity for a moment.

"Thank you," he grinned, pulling them all into a hug.

It took all of Ginny's will power not to die laughing when she saw the final result of the girls' enterprise. It took fun and inappropriate out to the far reaches, and she could see the scarlet stain on Callum's cheeks. Taking a deep breath, she gave her children the presents to give to Callum.

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When the Lupins came into the great hall for breakfast, they were astonished to find streamers and banners hanging above one of the table, reading "Happy Birthday Callum!". Groaning, the birthday boy turned and attempted to leave the great hall.

Chuckling, Remus took him by the arm and propelled him forward. "Come on, just bite the silver bullet. They mean well."

As soon as the girls saw him, they struck up a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday, drawing the attention of everyone present. Laughing, several of the professors even joined in. He shook his head ruefully and went to the table, finding an empty seat right in the middle of the girls. For some reason, he felt he deserved a blindfold and a cigarette. As soon as he sat down, a huge omelet appeared on his plate, complete with birthday candles.

With the last chorus, the Lupins sat down around the girls, and he was amused to find Morrigan and Tommo attach themselves to Kushiel and Cliona respectively. Cliona was actually down for breakfast for the first time since he'd arrived, and even Aurelia was her normal chipper self, which was not her normal demeanor at breakfast.

"You having a good day so far?" The blonde asked, blue eyes sparkling brightly.

"Yeah, sure."

"What kind of presents did you get?"

"Um, I got a new book of music, a healing text, a pack of tennis balls courtesy of Tommo, and later on, we'll go and get an owl for me to use to communicate with my family," he answered, taking large bite of his omelet.

"Oh, but Callum, don't forget those splendid pajamas," Ginny reminded him innocently, watching the blush creep back up his neck onto his cheeks.

Remus frowned slightly, glancing over at the young man. "I thought you didn't wear pajamas."

As Callum wished for nothing more than the ability to sink straight through the floor, the girls lost it, laughing loud and long. Cliona leaned backwards in an attempt to get a breath and actually fell off the bench, lying on the floor and just laughing harder.

Risking a glance up from his suddenly fascinating plate, Callum caught Kushiel's eye and she winked. He wasn't sure if that made him feel better or not.

"Happy birthday, sweetie," Ginny whispered in his ear with a wicked chuckle, and that pretty much put the nail in his coffin as far as having a normal day was concerned.

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Callum escaped to the infirmary as soon as he could only to find that Nurse Kayenta wanted him to have the day off for his birthday. He might have protested and stayed regardless had it not been for the smothered giggles coming from Elena, whose huge blue eyes sparkled. Taking to his feet, he sprinted through the halls and outside, not stopping until he reached the veranda of Mistress Craefter's cottage.

To his dismay, he found Kushiel there, skimming over a composition book, and he groaned.

"I promise I won't mention it," she assured him without even looking up.

"Just tell me how," he begged, coming to sit next to her.

"Nonsense, a girl never plots and tells." She very calmly took a sip of her smoothie and patted him on top of his head, her eyes still on her notes.

"Why am I comfortable with you?" he asked suddenly, and she finally looked up at him, her green eyes amused.

"Probably because I don't look at you like you're a walking slab of man meat."

He nearly choked over the term 'man meat', but continued gamely on. "Why not?"

"Disappointed?"

"No!" He retorted emphatically. "No," he repeated more quietly, running a hand through his auburn curls. "Relieved, actually. Just curious."

"I'm giving my hormones a break," she shrugged.

"You have a crush on someone else," he translated, and she laughed lightly.

"Perhaps," she admitted, "but if you ever figure out who, for the love of Nim, don't tell anyone. It's a little embarrassing."

"As embarrassing as having the entire great hall hear that you don't wear pajamas?" he returned ruefully, and she snorted delicately.

"I'll admit, that fact we hadn't counted on," she confessed with a laugh. "Why aren't you in the infirmary?"

"Nurse Kayenta forced me to take the day off for my birthday."

"Then why don't you go grab Ginny and go get your owl?" she suggested. "Now's a perfect time to do it, while you don't have anything else."

"True," he acknowledged.

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He came back that afternoon with a cage held in the crook of one arm, a stunning eagle owl contained within. Settling him into his chambers, he stroked the crisp feathers and endeavored to come up with a name. Something about the way the bird's eyes looked around balefully at everything struck a note, and he grinned. "Hello, Set. Welcome home."

A knock on his door startled him, but he went to open it. Cliona srood there, and he could smell her anxiety, though he couldn't really see it. "Hi, Cliona. What's going on?"

"Well, I was wondering what you were doing for the full moon," she answered. "It's this weekend, you know."

He nodded thoughtfully, although he truthfully hadn't recalled. "I didn't really have any plans as of yet," he admitted. "Why?"

She grinned broadly, her brown eyes warm. "Well, a bunch of us were planning on getting together for hide and seek once the Wolfsbane kicked in, and we thought you might like to join."

"Hide and seek? As a werewolf?"

"Well, I'm the only werewolf right now, but-"

"You mean you play with humans while they're transformed?" he interrupted, strangely delighted. Remus still maintained that his long ago ability to be around the human Ginny while in wolf form was a fluke, and he never let them around humans if he could help it.

"Once we're sure the Wolfsbane is working, yes," she repeated. "There's no reason not to. As long as I have my own mind, I'm not going to bite anyone."

"I'd love to," he laughed, already looking forward to it.


	4. Olly Olly Oxenfree

**Disclaimer: Do I really have to keep repeating myself? They're not mine, I promise. I wish they were, but they're not, and while that makes me sad, it's still the truth.**

_A/N: PLEASE REVIEW! I give virtual milk and cookies to everyone who reviews._

Chapter Four: Olly Olly Oxenfree

Cliona locked herself away in her bathroom just before nightfall, shedding her clothes and waiting for the moon to rise. She and Callum had talked, over the past couple of days, about transformations. He had told her all about his first several transformations, and she couldn't begin to imagine it. The wolf had always been part of her, there had never been the kind of conflict that Callum relayed. She had been raised all her life in pack, with the expectations of both pack and clan, and until now, it had never seemed odd to her.

Her body felt the precise instant the full moon rose above the horizon and she took a deep breath, letting her body flow into the change. It still hurt, it was still a slightly unnatural change, but she'd been saturating her system with the Wolfsbane for a straight week now, and it wasn't a struggle to let the human mind come to the forefront. She murmured an apology to herself; tomorrow, she promised, tomorrow we'll hunt.

Nosing open the door, she headed out through the Enigmus dorms and into the school proper, heading towards the Great Hall as promised. Ginny, Remus, and Lorcan were going to take Emme out to the forest for nights, teaching her the basics of the hunt. She had been fairly recently bitten, but Cliona didn't know how to counsel someone who'd received a bite, didn't know how to teach her instincts. But Remus and Ginny could do that. Morrigan and Tommo were going to be joining them in the hall, along with Callum.

Her heart did a little flipflop in her chest at the thought of him. She really was hopelessly infatuated with him, and she knew she wasn't the only one. It seemed like all the girls but Kush were sighing over him as he passed, but it was Kush he hung out with more often than not. She couldn't really figure it out, but her friend had pulled her aside and promised eight ways to Sunday that there was nothing going on. Kush didn't want Callum, and so Callum was comfortable around her. She shook her head, tongue lolling out in a lupine laugh. Strange, how everyone fidgets in the presence of what they want.

Cliona pushed through the doors of the Great Hall, bounding up to the cluster of students seated on and around one of the tables. Dressed simply in loose drawstring pants and a tank, Kush leaned down and scratched her behind the ears. "Good evening, Cliona," she said lightly.

She barked absently and looked around, scents identifying as easily as sight. Yipping playfully, Morri and Tommo tumbled into the great hall, wrestling each other as cubs often do. Callum followed after that, stalking with dignity and herding them away from rolling into the tables. She yawned hugely in a desperate attempt to seem unaffected, but he was one gorgeous hunk of wolf flesh. Growing up surrounded by the perpendicular, she saw the beauty in the elongated limbs, in the slightly altered joints, on the longer muzzle. It was what she was, and Callum, with his thick grey fur closely covering his body, fit perfectly into that appreciation of beauty.

Hearing a sound suspiciously like a snicker, she looked up to see Kushiel chuckling into her hand. She whined and batted at the girl's leg with one paw, keeping the claws carefully away.

Morri and Tommo bounded up to Cliona, nuzzling her affectionately. Tommo even went so far as to lick a stripe up her shaggy brown cheek, but then, Tommo regarded her as his saviour of sorts, ever since the Jolly incident. Callum inclined his head gravely, and she nodded in return. Normally, as a female wolf, she would have bowed, her muzzle to the floor, but she was the Alpha Heir to her pack; she bowed only to her father, no one else.

"Okay, so now that everyone's here, let's get started," Kush announced, clapping her hands to get everyone's attention.

"Who's It first?" Aurelia asked, and her friend got a mischievous gleam in her eye.

"Well, since you brought it up, Aurelia, I suppose you can fill those honors. Remember," she continued, over Aurelia's groan and everyone else's laughs, "the count is to fifty, nice and slow. Aurel, close your eyes, and everyone else, run for the hills."

Laughing madly over the beginning of the blonde girl's count, everyone scattered, and Cliona shot straight for the Headmaster's chair, curling up into a neat ball underneath it, hidden from view by the long tablecloth. She could hear muffled giggles and whispers as everyone else settled into their own chosen positions.

"Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty!" Aurelia cried out, opening her eyes. "Ready or not, here I come."

She stood perfectly still for a moment, waiting to see if anyone would give themselves away with a sudden giggle or shift in movement. Failing that, she began prowling around, checking underneath the tables as she came to them. She thought she heard a giggle from the High Table, but she couldn't be sure; things tended to echo in the great hall. Tiptoeing up to the dais, she checked under the tablecloth at the very end of the table and found Carriegan crouched there, clutching her knees and burying her face in her arms to try and be smaller.

Grinning triumphantly, Aurelia reached out and tapped the other girl none so lightly on the shoulder. "You're it," she yelled. "Olly olly oxenfree!

At the signal, everyone poured out of their hiding places and scattered to new ones as Carriegan resignedly began counting. Kushiel secreted herself behind one of the pillars, hidden from sight by a drape of Colubrae green fabric hanging down from the top of the column. After Carriegan reached fifty, she watched her carefully, waiting to see if she approached her chosen spot.

Kushiel was saved from the possibility, however, when Carriegan noticed Tommo's wagging tail peeking out from the space between two of the tables. Taking a short break, Cliona instructed by demonstration how to scrape against the floor for each count, and bark to let everyone know he was one his way.

At the end of fifty, the cub sniffed the air and sifted through all the different scents, picking one and following it straight to the source: Callum.

Tongue lolling out good naturedly, Callum covered his eyes with a paw and counted out the fifty, barking loudly to indicate the count was over. He could smell every single person, and what's more, they all knew it, but part of the fun was to see who he would choose as his victim, and suddenly the word didn't have quite the negative connotation that werewolves always seemed to carry with them. Finding the scent he wanted to pursue, he prowled across the floor, belly close to the stone, until he had slunk straight up the dais and under the tablecloth of the High Table. There she was, curled up once again underneath the Headmaster's chair.

Padding forward, he gently nuzzled her to tag her. She looked up at him, tongue lolling in laughter, and he did a thing that surprised the both of them; he nuzzled her again and ran his tongue lightly along her cheek. He sat back on his haunches and watched her rise up onto hers. She swiftly snuggled against him before barking out her discovery.

After counting out, Cliona knew exactly who she wanted to target, and pursued her with a vengeance. Finally finding her perched on top of a statue, she sank her teeth into the loose cotton of Kushiel's pants and tugged. Laughing, the redhead slid down off the statue.

"What is going one here?" a voice demanded, and both Cliona and Kushiel froze. Turning slowly towards the door, they found the Headmaster, Deputy Headmistress Kobiyashi, and Fineus, all standing in the entryway, arms crossed over their chests. "Curfew was nearly an hour ago," the Headmaster continued. "What are the two of you doing in here?"

Kushiel and Cliona exchanged a look, the species barrier no match for six years of friendship, and they both shrugged. "Might as well,' Kush murmured, eyeing the highly displeased Headmaster. She took a deep breath and called out loudly, "Olly olly oxenfree!"

Much more tentatively than in the normal course of the game, the other twenty-odd players emerged from their places, the increasing number causing the Deputy Headmistress' eyes to widen.

"We were playing hide and seek," Kush said simply. "Would you like to join?"

Carriegan nearly choked on a startled protest, but a quick glance from the redhead had her holding her tongue to see what would transpire.

Professor Kobiyashi blinked rapidly, and the Headmaster's lips twitched in an unwilling smile. Finues just downright laughed. "Ye have to admire their guts, Headmaster," he gasped. "Playin hide'n'seek, who would ever ha' thought?"

Kush bit her lip and reluctantly met the eyes of the Headmaster, and Callum watched with interest, storing the wolf's impressions to peruse through later.

Finally, Clark lost his battle and chuckled. "What would you have done if one of us had been Professor Bloodthorne?" he asked in amusement.

"Keep everyone else hidden and say that Cliona needed me to open the outside doors for her," she answered glibly, and he laughed a little harder. "So are you going to join the game," she queried, daringly pressing her luck.

"Why not?" he agreed, shrugging out of his black cloak. "I can't even remember the last time I played hide and seek. Sachiko? Fineus?"

"Absoballylutely, sir," the leprechaun crowed, tugging at his short emerald waistcoat.

"I think I'll go make sure Kraven is in his chambers," Professor Kobiyashi murmured, eyeing the nearly two dozen students. "It definitely wouldn't do to have him decide to patrol."

Callum shook his head, wheezing humorously. Such a thing would never have been even started at Hogwarts, much less gotten away with. It was times like these that reminded him just how different Avistrrum was. He was rather glad to be here.

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With Nurse Kayenta's permission, he slept through most of the next day, as he usually did with transformations. The Headmaster had joined in the game, surely enough, but he had also made sure they more than understood that such a thing was not to be done without prior approval. To that end, Cliona would be joining the Lupin family in the hunt tonight, helping to continue the education of Emme Rochon, the newest werewolf.

He was looking forward to it, but not so much to sharing the hunt; when he'd mentioned the previous night to Ginny, she'd started growling, despite being in human form. When the moon rose, he made the change swiftly and shook himself to gain his bearings. They were going to meet out by the fountain, and Nurse Kayenta was holding the door open for them. He padded silently through the halls, joined by Cliona, and they quickly gained the main entryway, nodding politely to the mediwitch. Wishing them good hunting, she closed the door behind them.

The white wolf came up to them and nuzzled Callum affectionately, extending the same gesture to Cliona. The younger wolf whined happily, her tail waving slightly. Hearing a high-pitched, unruly bark, Cliona gave a most unwolflike sigh, echoed by Ginny. That could only have been Emme.

Cliona didn't particularly care for Emme in either form, and was generally very careful to avoid her entirely. Now, however, if she wished to hunt with the pack, she didn't have much of a choice. Remus gave a low growl of warning and Emme fell quiet, still nearly tripping over herself on four paws. Cliona mentally shook her head and sat back on her haunches to wait. Only Remus could start the hunt, for he was the Alpha here.

Eyeing each of them carefully, the wolf that was Remus threw back his head and howled, answered by the others. Emme chimed in a moment later, holding it out past the others. Ignoring that for the moment, they took to their paws and raced down the path and across the grass into the forest, Remus at their head, Ginny at their back, the rest of them fanning out between. Emme was kept squarely in the middle.

The newest werewolf shot out of formation to chase an unwary rabbit and Ginny growled. Easily catching up to the stumbling cub, she nipped her none too lightly on the neck, herding her back into the pack. Another growl of warning rumbled in the white wolf's throat, and Emme whined unhappily.

They stopped in a clearing for a few moments, and Callum conferred with Remus, his head bowed as was only proper. Remus gave a sharp bark of approval, making Callum's tail wave. The younger wolf nudged Cliona, Morrigan, and Tommo, gesturing for them to follow him.

Happily, Cliona did as bid and trotted along after him out of the forest. Perhaps it was no longer a hunt, but it was also no longer putting up with Emme, who had yet to understand the basic etiquette of pack. Once out of the trees and back into the rolling grass, they shot off, running simply for the pure joy of running. Morri and Tommo barked in laughter and started wrestling again, rolling through the soft earth. Morri was older, but Tommo was very near her size in wolf terms, for the males often grew faster. Sitting back on her haunches, Cliona watched them amusedly, Callum beside her.

She didn't really have any firm plans for after Avistrum, but for the first time, she thought that maybe, eventually, she'd like to mate and have cubs of her own. Not immediately, of course, but sometime. There was something very nice about watching cubs play.

As if divining her thoughts, Callum wheezed and nuzzled her side. Part of her really wanted to return the caress, but wasn't sure if it was purely the wolf or if it was the human part of him, too. She wanted it to be both, but was hesitant to encourage one when the other might not feel it at all. She was saved from having to respond by a sudden yip of pain.

They both turned and stared at Tommo, who was whining pathetically with one paw stuck down the entrance to a rabbit warren. So far as they could tell, he'd simply misstepped and fallen through the soft earth. He backed away and tried his weight on the injured paw, but his whining grew.

Cliona nuzzled his face sympathetically, then gently gripped the scruff of his neck in her jaws and started carrying him. Their tales hanging low in misery, for the injury of a packmate was an injury to the whole pack, Callum and Morrigan followed her back up towards the school. Nurse Kayenta wouldn't be back to open the door for them until just before moonset, and there wasn't much she could do for the injured join while the boy was still in wolf form, so the four creatures nestled up together near the fountain, simply sharing in the warmth and closeness. This, too, was pack, the companionship and sharing, as well as the hunt and the thrill.

Cliona awoke when she heard the near-inaudible squeak of the door swinging open, and came to awareness with Callum wrapped around her, his muzzle resting on her haunch. Tommo and Morrigan were nestled up against her, Tommo whimpering whenever he accidentally pushed his paw against the ground. She gained her feet, trying not to feel the absence of Callum against her back, and lifted Tommo by his scruff again, carrying him inside the building.

Normally, she would have gone straight back to her dorm, made the change, thrown on some pjs, and crawled into bed, but normally, she didn't have Tommo. So, instead, she headed towards the infirmary, rearing back to lay the cub on a clean white bed. Callum and Morrigan padded in a moment later, and Callum went straight into the linens cupboard, pulling out four new sheets.

Cliona approved heartily of his foresight; come sunrise, there'd be four very naked humans sitting around, and at least the sheets would provide some cover. Between the two of them, the older werewolves dragged one of the sheets over the cub, and Morrigan nestled into her own underneath Tommo's bed.

Taking her own sheet, Cliona headed over to a curtained off corner. Callum followed her, tucking the sheet closer around her, then went off to his own corner to await the transformation. When it came, he let his mind go, allowing his body to simply take itself through the change. He found that his body protested a great deal less if he didn't try to force it. When his form had flowed into its natural human shape, he wrapped the sheet about his waist and tied it tightly around his narrow hips.

Cliona emerged from her corner a moment later, tying the sheet into a somewhat ungainly sarong, and sat down beside Tommo, adjusting the sheet so that he was fully covered.

Robin Kayenta came into the infirmary, slightly startled to see them there, then smiled. "Was there a problem?"

"I think Tom twisted his ankle," Callum yawned, running a hand through his auburn curls.

"Well, that's easily taken care of," she replied, still smiling. She strolled over the pantry to retrieve some supplies and came back to the bed, sitting next to his foot. She pulled the ankle into her lap, smoothing a cooling salve over it to pull out the inflammation. She unrolled a simple ACE bandage and carefully wrapped his ankle in it, pressing against the joint. "Is that too tight?"

"No, ma'am," he answered, politely trying to suppress his own yawn.

"Then we're all set," she chuckled. "Would you like to stay here to sleep, or go back to your rooms?"

"Back," he managed through the yawn that escaped.

"I'll carry him," Callum offered sleepily. "It's not that far from mine."

"I was actually thinking of opening the Floo," Robin countered gently. "It wouldn't really do for someone going early to breakfast seeing you lot run around in bedsheets."

"Fun, though," Cliona noted absently.

Shaking her head, but still smiling, Robin went to the cold hearth and started a fire with her wand, opening the network with the staff and faculty password. "You first, Tommo and Morri."

Leaning on his older sister, Tommo clutched the sheet to him and hobbled through the fireplace into their chambers. Cliona went next, waving a sleepy good morning to the remaining two. Smiling at her apprentice, Robin changed the destination of the fire one last time. "There you are, Callum. Get some rest."

Nodding, he headed through the green flames and collapsed on his bed, not even bothering to change or remove the sheet.

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Kushiel laid back on her bed, her eyes open and staring at the canopy of her bed. Her watch told her it was nearly two in the morning, but she just couldn't seem to sleep. Sighing, she rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up, groping on her nightstand for a barrette. She pulled back her long curls and piled them atop her head, fastening it with the clip, and slid her bare feet into her flipflops. Grabbing her bag, she headed silently out of the dorms and towards the only thing she could think of to keep her occupied at the moment.

The sphinx looked at her oddly, given the time of morning and her state of apparel, but she opened the door without comment, closing it after her. Kush settled into her desk, ignoring the softly snoring Lysander, and began going through her notes in preparation for more research. Slipping off the flipflops, she tucked one foot underneath her and tugged on a loose curl near her ear.

"What are we missing?" she muttered, reading through the Professor Kobiyashi's report of the demented toy maker. It seemed like it should be something obvious, and yet she couldn't make the connection.

"Kush, it's two in the morning; what are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep," she answered, not looking up from the page.

"What do you usually do when you can't sleep?"

"Talk to Cliona," she returned, grinning up at the Headmaster as he came to stand behind her.

"I can see how that would be difficult," he agreed lightly.

She set down her quill and eyed him thoughtfully. When not in his Dark Hunter clothing, he always appeared immaculate, yet his purple vest was undone and his shirt untucked, the collar and cuffs open. He looked tired, she decided. "Rough day, sir?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he shrugged, leaning against the edge of her desk. "We're starting to receive word of a new minion."

"What's his gig?" she asked curiously, picking her quill back up.

Sighing, Clark ran a hand through his shoulder length hair, pulling his thoughts into order. "He makes paintings, if you wish to call them that, that exercise some kind of mind control. The problem is, they affect muggles even faster than wizards, so he's managing to gain a lot of money by selling them to rich muggles who prize pretension over actual aesthetic value."

"Are they actually that devoid of talent, sir?" She asked, stifling a laugh.

"Even worse," he grinned.

The snores abruptly cut off, and a very grouchy voice interrupted. "Bad enough you bother me all day, can't you at least leave me alone at night?" Lysander demanded.

"No," Clark and Kushiel both shot back, grinning at each other.

"It's inappropriate, a student and teacher meeting this time of night," he groused further. "And in nightclothes, too, absolutely indecent."

Clark glanced down, as if he hadn't realized that his companion was in pajamas, and flushed slightly. There was nothing truly wrong with it, long satin pants in a striped silver and dark green and a silver tank, but it was the idea of it more than anything. He moved away, retreating behind his own desk. "Why didn't you go to Nurse Kayenta for a sleep potion?" he queried shuffling through some papers on his desk.

She shrugged casually and flipped to a new report, filing the toy maker back in its place. "Insomnia is an old friend of mine, and I don't want to take the chance of becoming addicted to potions. I get by well enough without them."

"Insomnia?" he echoed. "Really? You, Kush?"

"For about seven years, now, yes," she answered, not matching his light tone. She picked up the new report, quirking her eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

"Which one?" She held it up so he could see the title and he laughed. "Yes, that's actually true. Talk about trying to keep a straight face in that one."

"Straight being the relative term," she murmured, starting to take notes on it.

"So why insomnia?" he kept to the point.

"You make it sound like I chose it," she chuckled, making a face at the parchment.

"Seriously, Kush."

Sighing, she set down the papers, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I'm not really sure," she admitted. "Close as I can tell, it started when Da left and the nightly routine got changed."

"What do you mean, when your Da left?"

"Da left when we were twelve, just left. We think he was on some kind of vision quest or something. Before that, though, the only thing he and Mum really did together was put us to bed. It didn't matter that we were eleven years old and really too old for it, it was just what we did." She leaned back in her chair, smiling at the memory, her voice soft. "Da was always somewhat head in the clouds, so it was wonderful when each night, he'd tuck us into our beds and make a huge show of checking everywhere in the room for monsters. Then Mum would come in, and sit in her chair between our beds, Da standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders, and she'd sing us to sleep. But then, Da went off to who knows where, and Rhon went to Hogwarts, and it was just Mum and me. We did our own thing, but it just wasn't quite the same."

"And you don't know where he went?' he asked sympathetically, setting down his papers. Kush was a strong person, always striking him as very self-sufficient, so seeing her in this kind of vulnerable state was something entirely new.

"He left a note, sort of, which is why we think it's the vision quest thing. We haven't heard from him since, but it's entirely possible he forgot all about us. Da's a genius, but he still can't put his shoes on the right feet. The only time we've ever really missed him was at bedtime. It's not that big a deal," she shrugged, glancing back to her notes. "He'll either come back or he won't. Mum's probably better off."

"Better off?"

She smiled crookedly, reaching out to gently stroke Renfield where he lay curled up on the corner of her desk. "The joys of an arranged marriage," she explained. "Things can be a little backward back across the pond."

"Ah." He watched her go back to her work, his thoughts occupied with what she'd just told him. He wasn't quite certain how he'd missed the cues of something so important. Hindsight, wonderful as it is, pointed out exactly what he'd failed to notice. She spoke often of home, and of her mother and sister, but never mentioned her father. He had thought at first that she may have been a bastard, for her record showed her having her mother's name, but further search had unearthed a clause in her mother's marriage contract to preserve the name.

She scratched absently at her nose with the quill, her attention wholly on the pages in front of her. It was a puzzle, to be sure, but she was missing too many pieces to solve it now. All she could do was search for more.

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They remained in the office together until nearly six, each working on their own things and occasionally proferring a comment on one thing or another. When grey light started filtering in through the windows, Kush abruptly stood and began packing her bag.

"Was it something I said?" Clark joked, and she flashed him a smile.

"Cliona promised to bring me back a present from tonight's hunt," she told him. "I'd like to go meet her at the door."

"Really? What kind of present?"

"I have no idea," she laughed, slinging her bag over one shoulder. "But it should be fun."

"I think I'll join you then," he announced, buttoning up his vest. "I'm interested to see what she brings back."

She quirked an eyebrow at him, but said nothing, merely holding the door open for him to pass through.

The odd looking pair strolled through the hallways, talking quietly about nothing much. Lady Viola Fey, an Enigmus house ghost, smiled at them as they passed, realizing a moment too late the the student was wearing pajamas. But, she rationalized, continuing on her way, so many of the students wore their pajamas after classes that it probably didn't mean anything.

Nurse Kayenta smiled at them when they joined her near the door, though she gently scolded the girl on the likelihood of her catching cold. Kushiel dutifully promised to be more careful in the future, though they both knew the chances of that happening.

Virginia in the summer could be very hot, and fairly humid, but in the morning there was a lingering coolness that wrapped around them. Robin pulled open the door and fastened it to the catch that held it open. Kushiel sat down on the stone floor, wrapping her arms around her knees and pulling them to her chest.

After a few minutes, seven shadows slunk out of the morning mist around the fountain, Remus in the lead. Cliona stopped beside her friend and nuzzled her cheek, leaving a smear of blood and dirt.

"No need to ask if you enjoyed the hunt," she laughed, scratching her strongly behind the ears. Cliona's tail whapped against the floor and she opened her jaws over Kush's lap. "And what's this?" She picked up the large stone, perhaps the size of a golden dollar, and inspected it in the weak light. It was mostly gray, but there were sparkling pops of red in its depths. "An uncut ruby or garnet? Very neat! I didn't think we were close enough to the mountains for those."

She barked, and Kushiel laughed. "Yes, I know I shouldn't question it, and I have no intention of doing so. It was just a comment. You going to bed?"

She barked quietly and laid her muzzle against the floor, covering it with one hand.

"Night night," the girl told the wolf, rising to her feet. "Sleep tight. And let-" she stopped and winked at the suddenly growling wolf. "Well, you know what goes there. Good night, Nurse Kayenta, Headmaster."

"Wait, Kush, you've got blood on your cheek." Without thinking about it, the Headmaster pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket and licked it, gently wiping off her cheek. She flushed slightly, his fingers lingering against her cheek, until he abruptly tucked the cloth back into his pocket. "Good night, Kush."

Nodding, the girl left with the pack trailing at her heels

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When Cliona awoke early that evening, it took her a moment to recall the events immediately before going to bed. Sunrise was always a fuzzy time for her, full moon or no; there was a reason she was rarely present for breakfast. Something had struck her as strange; now if she could only figure out what it was.

Shrugging, she slid out of bed and trudged into the bathroom to take a shower. That simple action was what always made her feel completely human again. Dressing in a plain grey hoodie and jeans, she headed down to the great hall to stop the grumbling of her stomach.

None of her usual cohorts were there, so she collapsed into a seat at the end of the Enigmus tables. After a moment's thought, Bangor sausages and mash appeared on her plate and she started eating. She'd had the rabbit during the night, true, but she was starving.

She was halfway done when she felt someone sit next to her, and she sniffed the air thoughtfully. "Good evening, Callum."

"How are you this evening?" he asked, digging into his thick oatmeal.

"I'm feeling rather forgetful," she decided. "There's something I was meaning to think on further, but I can't remember what it was."

"I know that feeling," he chuckled. "I get it all the time." They ate in silence for a time, and even after she was done, Cli sat sipping her Irish breakfast tea, enjoying his company. "Does Kush have a crush on anyone?" he asked suddenly.

Her heart sinking in her chest, Cliona slowly shook her head. "Not that I know of."

"Huh. I could swear she has one at someone."

Now she was just plain puzzled. "Well, she's acting like she does when she has one, but she hasn't told me anything, and she always tells me these things."

"We were talking, and she said she 'might' have a crush on someone, but if I figured it out, I shouldn't tell anyone," he mused. "Kushiel is a bit tricky though, and what she says isn't always what she means."

Then the light bulb came on. "That's what it was!" she exclaimed suddenly. "When we came in and he wiped the blood off her cheek," she explained excitedly. "Was it my imagination, or did their scents change?"

"Her breath caught," he remembered, flashing back in his mind.

"So did his."

"Do you think…" she trailed off, her warm brown eyes lighting up.

"That's her crush," he breathed. "That's why she said it would be embarrassing if anyone knew."

"She's only a student for so long, though," she mentioned innocently, calmly sipping her tea.

Grinning wolfishly, he nodded. "That's very true. You're a genius, Cli."

"I was sorted where I was for a reason," she shrugged.

"So do we just wait and see where it goes, do we try to help it along?"

"For now, let it lie; they may be able to take this somewhere on their own." She fingered the scratches across her face from a surprisingly defensive rabbit.

He noticed it when she touched it, and gently pulled her chin toward him, inspecting them. "Come on, we should get something on those."

"They're fine," she lightly batted his hand away.

"I'm a healer," he reminded her. "Come on." Pushing aside his mostly eaten dinner, he rose to his feet and pulled her after him, half dragging her to the infirmary as she continued to half-heartedly protest. Once inside, he sat her down at his desk and went for the salve Ginny and Hermione had developed years before. "Here."

Taking her chin in hand, he dipped his fingers into the salve and lightly spread it across her nose and cheek, completely covering the shallow scratches. His fingers ghosted across her neck when he finished, and she looked up at him with carefully expressionless eyes. Without truly thinking about what he was doing, he pulled her slightly closer and covered her lips with his.

With a sound like a sigh, she melted into him, lightly resting her hand at his waist. So maybe it was the human, too.


	5. The American Tradition

**Disclaimer: Do we really need to keep going through this? Most of this stuff isn't mine! There!**

_A/N: You know, there's this little blueish button down at the bottom of the page next to "Submit review". You all should really try giving that a whack, it might prove fun._

**Chapter Five: The American Tradition**

Callum was cleaning off his desk for the night when he smelled them. Their base scents were there, but they were layered oddly with other concoctions. Turning around, his eyes widened at the sight that greeted him.

The girls were going out. That much he knew, though he couldn't for the life of him have guessed where they were headed. Although a little frightened, he wasn't so scared that he was unable to admire the view.

Aurelia had her blonde hair in her omni-present pigtails, slightly curled at the ends with white and silver ribbons streaming through them. Incredibly low slung white jeans hugged her hips, leaving her stomach and back bare for the draping silver top. His first thought was to ask how she kept it on; his next was that he didn't want to know. With her face adorably done up in glitters and shimmers, she winked at him, her baby pink lips curved in a sweet smile.

Carriegan came in behind her, her perfume dark and exotic, vivid violet eyes heavily outlined in kohl. Her lips, so deep a red as to be almost black, twisted into a smirk, dark purple hair done up in an elegant twist. Clinging to her every curve, her dress was black suede, with skinny little straps and high slits up both thighs. She sat down on the edge of a bed, crossing her long legs to show off her strappy black heels.

Kushiel closed the door behind her, smirking at the other two, and Callum decided that he just might cry. Cute black high heels, tied at the ankle with black ribbon above the thick heels, clicked against the stone floor as she came to lean against his desk, her legs sheathed in white thigh-hi stockings. Just the hint of a white lace suspender peeked out from under her tight black leather miniskirt as she, too, crossed her legs at the knee. A white satin bodice hugged her body in all the right ways, with stiff white collar and cuffs standing alone. From the collar hung her green and silver Colubrae tie. With her green eyes innocently shown with shimmering white eyeshadow and stark black liner, her lips covered in glossy blood red color, she was the perfect finale to the strange little trio. All that was missing was Cliona.

"You doing anything tonight, Callum?" Aurelia asked, bouncing excitedly on her white stilettos.

"Not that I know of," he answered warily.

"We're going out," Carriegan informed him succinctly. "Would you care to join us?"

"Going out where?"

"Somewhere muggle," Kush shrugged, the toe of one shoe resting on his knee. "Somewhere fun."

"Strangely enough, I don't think I'm dressed quite appropriately," he chuckled, looking down at his plain blue jeans and white t-shirt.

"Oh, that's okay, Ginny helped us out with getting some clothes for you."

He stared at Kushiel for a long moment, trying to read the truth in her, but if she was lying, she was hiding it well enough that even the wolf couldn't smell it. "Ginny approved of this?"

"Yes. We even got permission from the Headmaster!" Aurelia chirped.

"Really?" he asked doubtfully.

"He said we had to be back by two," Kushiel elaborated. "And it's just now eight. We've got plenty of time."

"So are you going to come with?" Carriegan demanded coolly.

"Um, sure," he replied, internally groaning. "Why not?"

The metamorphmagus tossed a bag of clothing at him. "Then change into that, we'll wait for you."

Reaching in, he pulled out what appeared to be a black mesh shirt. He looked quickly at Kushiel, who merely smiled. "Do I really want to be doing this?" he whispered.

She laughed and leaned forward, letting him catch a subtle wave of vanilla and roses. "You'll be just fine, trust me."

"That does not inspire much confidence," he grumbled, heading towards the bathroom. He stripped off his clothing, ignoring Carriegan's arch offer of help, and pulled the rest of the clothing out of the bag. He was suddenly very sure that he did not, in fact, want to be doing this, but he'd already agreed and had no doubt that they'd hold him to it. Sighing, he tugged on the black leather pants, trying not to think about how tight they were, and threw on the tight, dark green wifebeater over the black mesh shirt. He wasn't sure if that's how it was supposed to go, but it was how we was going to go, on that he was determined. As he put on the plain black sneakers Ginny had most likely stolen from under his bed, he very firmly kept himself from looking at the make-up in the bottle of the bag. If he didn't see it, he didn't have to make up an excuse, but he'd be damned before he wore make up.

He stood for a few minutes in front of the mirror, not entirely sure he liked the image, but finally couldn't put it off any longer, walking out the rejoin the girls. Kush and Aurelia whistled cheekily, Carriegan smiling wickedly.

"Very nice," the redhead complimented. Reaching into the bag he'd brought out with him, she took the small can of Axe and sprayed it liberally over him, adding the simple steel dog tags and spiked collar. "Accessories are so important," she twitted him, running a hand absently through his auburn curls. She messed them up a little, pulling most of the curl to the end of each lock. "All right, let's head out."

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to a club in Richmond," she finally answered. "Don't worry, we'll bring you along with us."

"That may frighten me even more."

"Hush," Carriegan ordered, rising to her feet. "We'll leave from the gates, the anti-apparition wards, and all."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Half-dragging him along to the gates, the girls prepared for their night of torment. Well, that's how he saw it anyway. When it came time to apparate, Kush quickly grabbed his arm, pulling him into her for the side-long trip. Cliona would forgive her, and he was more than a little wary of making the trip with either of the other two. They might not show up at the club.

They appeared in a dark alley, trash falling over itself into heaps and mounds. Kushiel steadied her passenger, then held out her hand to Aurelia. "You remembered to bring them with you, yeh?"

"Of course I did!" The blonde retorted, rolling her eyes. Reaching down into her back pocket, she pulled out four identification cards. She checked the pictures against each person and handed them out.

Callum looked down at his. It gave his name and address, basic physical description, and a date of birth. The name and physical description were accurate enough, but he'd never even heard of the address, some place out in a state called Colorado, and the card listed him as being several years older than he was. Five, in fact. "Um…"

"Don't worry, we'll explain it to you later." Kush took him by the hand and led him out of the alley, and he started squinting against the bright lights.

"Where are we?" he called over the noise blaring from the building they were nearby.

"It's called Howl," she yelled into his ear. "It's fun, trust me!"

"You seem to be saying that a lot tonight!"

She grinned at him and joined the line around the side of the building.

"Where's Cliona?"

"She's joining us later! She had something to do first!"

"You think they'll remember us from last time?" Aurelia bellowed anxiously in Carriegan's ear.

"Not if my Obliviates still hold true to form," she replied, and Callum sank his face into his hands.

They made it into the club without incident, making it past the suspicious bouncers and into the chaos within. Clubbing wasn't really something wizards in England did, and he was beginning to see why. People dressed in all manner of odd clothing pressed up against each other, swaying and grinding, some of them looking like they were having seizures. Strobe lights flashed, and on a raised stage past the bar, a band was playing.

"I always forget how yummy those guys are," Aurelia sighed loudly.

Glancing back towards the band under the banner "Bunny Baiters", Callum saw four guys on instruments, with a really hot girl singing. All four guys were in black leather pants much like his own, with the rhthym guitarist and drummer in tight black wifebeaters, the bassist in a long sleeved black shirt, and the lead guitarist in a black t-shirt that looked like it had been painted on him. The girl had shaggy brown curls flying around her face as she sang, heavy black eyeliner and lipstick defining her face, A tight, dark green wife beater showed off her curves and toned arms, her legs hidden by wide legged, baggy black pants covered in chains and bondage straps.

As he watched, the singer crouched down at the edge of the stairs, hands reaching out, and those nearest her started shrieking.

"Am I the only one amused that they're doing _Of Wolf and Man_?" Kushiel murmured.

"What's that?"

"It's a Metallica song," Aurelia told Callum. "It's mostly a muggle thing."

"Come on!" Carriegan snapped impatiently. She tugged them over to the bar and ordered shots for them. "What's the point of coming all this way if we're just going to stand in the door all night?"

"Well, we don't want to get too schnockered before Cli joins us," Kush reminded her, tossing back her shot in spite of that. "That wouldn't be very fair."

"Since when did we care about fair?" Aurelia giggled.

Callum held his shot in his hand, reluctant to actually drink it.

Kush leaned in close to him as if she were going to kiss him, her lips going next to his ear so she could be heard. "Drinking age is 21 on this side of the pond," she told him, "so we had to fake ids to get around that little law. It's all right. We portkey back to school, so no worries about splinching, and we'll make sure nothing completely untoward happens. Better now?"

He nodded, trying not to blow out his breath too explosively. It actually was a relief, truth be told. He didn't want to have to try to put himself back together if he drunkenly left part of him behind, and he didn't want to have to explain it to the muggle clubowners. Or face those that did have to do the explaining.

"Where is Cliona?" he asked again.

"You're not the brightest crayon in the box tonight, are you, boyo?" She retorted, grinning. She jerked her head towards the stage, reaching behind her for another shot.

He followed her gaze back to the band just as the lead singer stood back up and shook her hair back. "Holy shit!" He gasped, his jaw dropping open.

He'd found Cliona.

"She'll join us when they finish the set."

"Who are those guys?" he growled, something rising up inside of him. A niggling little voice in the back of his brain wanted to call it jealousy, but he squashed that voice down.

Kush smirked and winked, seeing right through him as she often did. "Her brothers. Meet the elder McCullough children."

He shook his head, vaguely amused in spite of himself. He had to admit, he usually set himself up for her traps, but they were usually fun, so he couldn't really complain. Swallowing his shot, and feeling it burn all the way down, he settled back against the bar to watch the rest of the set.

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"Come on, Cliona will be a few minutes freshening up and working out pay with the manager," Carriegan yelled in his ear two hours later. "Come dance with me!"

He shook his head, the alcohol starting to get the better of him. He'd been watching her dance with random guys during the songs, even as the other two had, and couldn't figure out how on earth she did it in heels. When he'd asked Kush, she'd simply laughed and answered "We're girls; we learn".

Carriegan simply smirked and tugged him out into the throng of people covering the dance floor. She melded against him, her feet almost beside his.

Callum was mostly realistic in his self-awareness, and one thing he knew very well was that he was not a dancer. In any way, shape, or form. So, he mostly just stood while Carriegan wrapped herself around him, her hips moving in ways he really didn't want to think of as being possible.

When the song ended, he was almost grateful when Aurelia pulled him to a new section of the dance floor, twirling her arms around his neck. His relief was somewhat short-lived, however; the adorable blonde looked innocent, her dancing was anything but.

"My turn," Kushiel announced, pulling him from the Parador's grasp. She led him back over to the bar and perched on a stool, pressing a cold beer into his hands. "Here, take a breather."

"What, you don't want to dance with me?" he joked, wiping his hand across his forehead to clear away the sweat.

"Boyo, I love ye to death, but ye can't dance to save yer life," she laughed, her brogue coming out even more than usual. "I'd rather save me feet and give ye back yer breath."

A few minutes later, a young man with streaked green and blue hair came up and asked Kush for a dance. She quirked an eyebrow at Callum, who waved lazily. "Go on," he chuckled. "You don't have to babysit me."

She grinned and went off with the boy, leaving him lounging against the bar.

Carriegan strolled up to him, her face flushed, and downed another shot from the bar. For some strange reason, whenever the bartender went to ask for money, they got a bemused expression and completely forgot about it. "You having fun?" she yelled, slightly unsteady now on her heels.

"Why don't you sit down?" he suggested, rising to his feet. "You're looking a little fuzzy-headed."

"The only one that gets fuzzy is you," she giggled. "Once a month." She pitched forward and he caught her easily, his head finally starting to clear away from the dance floor. Hanging limply in his arms, she looked up at him through her eyelashes, smiling coyly. "I knew you'd fall for me sometime."

"Actually, I think it's you who fell," he corrected, completely missing the point.

She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him thoroughly, the alcohol mingling with their breath. He pulled away slowly, a little uncertainly, just in time to see Cliona staring at them with wide eyes.

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Kush saw Cliona pushing through people in an attempt to get out of the club and immediately started following her, her eyes falling briefly on the scene at the bar. Swearing, she wove through people and caught the girl's arm just outside the door.

"Let me go!" Cliona cried, pulling away violently.

"No," Kushiel retorted calmly. "We're going to walk into the alley, you're going to calm down for a moment while I tell Aurelia we're leaving, and then we'll go back to school together, understand?" Dumbly, the other girl nodded, and Kush gently pushed her towards the alley. "I'll be there are soon as I tell Aurelia."

She waded back through the masses of people and found the blonde up against a tall, olive-skinned man. "Aurel!" She yelled over the noise. "Cli and I are heading back!"

"Why!"

"Cli's really tired! We'll see you guys later!"

Aurelia nodded and Kush made her way back out of the club again. She felt a tiny smidgeon of guilt for abandoning Callum to a tipsy Carriegan, especially on his first clubbing experience, but a girl had to have priorities, and she'd been friends with Cliona for six years. She reached the alley and found a slightly calmer Cliona leaning her forehead against the brick wall. "Ready to go home?" she asked quietly.

Cliona nodded silently and Kush pulled her friend into a hug, pulling the galleon portkey out of her pocket and sandwhiching it between their hands. With a tug just below their navels, they shimmered out, only to reappear in the entrance hall. Cli turned towards the other girl, but the redhead shook her head, placing a finger against her lips.

The two walked quietly through the school to the Enigmus dorms, and Cliona cast a silencing charm around her bed before collapsing on top of the covers. "He was kissing her," she moaned.

"Actually, I think she was kissing him," she corrected lightly, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her friend's back.

"Still, there was kissing!"

Kush hesistated a moment, debating the wisdom of saying what was in her mind, but decided to forge ahead carefully. "Even if he had been kissing her, Cli, he hasn't declared yet. And we promised back in third year, if any of us were interested in the same boy, it was all fair game until he declared, and then hands off. Callum may have kissed you, but he hasn't declared."

"I know," she mumbled. "Which would be why I wasn't yelling. But still," she continued, flopping over onto her back. "What is it with guys and never wanting to be with just one girl?"

"A lot of girls never want to be with just one guy, you know."

The brunette smiled crookedly, tears gleaming in her brown eyes. "It's just not fair," she whispered. "I really like him, Kush."

"Maybe Carriegan does, too," she suggested carefully. "You've made your interest known, sweetie. For right now, the next move is his, unless you choose to leave the field of play. And I don't think you want to do that."

"Why did we come up with these stupid rules, anyway?"

"Because we knew a situation like this would eventually come up," Kushiel answered calmly, stroking Cliona's sweat-matted curls away from her forehead. "You put the curling stuff in it."

"The brothers really liked it," she agreed. She sighed and curled into the other girl's leg. "I hate boys."

"I know, sweetie. I know."

"Was he enjoying it?"

"I think he was too shocked to be much of anything," she answered with a laugh. "After all, we weren't exactly light on the alcohol."

"Speaking of which," Cli murmured, "did you take your potion?"

"Before we left," she replied. "It tastes much better than hangover potions, and reduces the risk of doing anything embarrassing or passing out." She conjured a cool cloth and folded it gently over the back of the werewolf's neck. "Things'll be different in the morning, sweetie."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

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Callum awoke entirely fuzzy headed. It was a rather new sensation for him, he usually awoke rather well. Then he sat up to roll out of bed and fell to the floor, his head a pounding wreck. He rose to all fours, wondering at the black mesh encasing his arms, and very carefully, unsteadily, made it all the way to his feet. Keeping a firm hold on the footboard, he walked very slowly over to the hearth, kneeling in front of it and poking at the banked fire until it burned brighter than his eyes particularly wanted it to. His mouth tasted foul, and his stomach was roiling uncertainly. This was definitely new territory.

Tossing in some floo powder, he waited until the flames burned green, though everything lookes a little green at the moment, and stuck his head into the grate. "Ginny?"

A moment later, the redhead came into view, wearing jeans and a light sweater. "I wondered when you'd be joining the day," she teased. "It's quite nearly three in the afternoon."

"Can I come through?"

"Of course, Callum." She backed away from the hearth and watched in only partially veiled amusement as he tumbled through, landing flat on his back in her living room. "You know, you really don't look so good."

"Is it possible that I'm still drunk?" he mused from his supine position.

"No, dear, I'm afraid that this is what we call hungover." She wrinkled her nose, carefully stepping over him to head into the bathroom. "And maybe if you're very nice, I'll let you have one of my potions for that."

"That would be nice," he agreed, closing his eyes. "Why did you charm your room to spin in circles?"

"That's just you, dear."

"Oh."

She smiled and opened the medicine cabinet high above the reach of little hands, and very nearly out of her own reach.

"Why is the floor moving?"

"That's just you, dear."

"Oh."

Ginny stopped in the bedroom, leaning against the door and biting her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

"Why is everything so loud?"

"That's just you, dear."

"Oh."

"I'd better give him the potion," she muttered, "before I hurt myself keeping this in." She walked quickly through the living room and hauled him up into a sitting position, pouring the potion down his throat. He swallowed purely out of reflex, nearly choking on it, before it started to work its miracles on his system. After three minutes, all the effects of the previous nights drinking were gone, except for the nasty taste in his mouth from the liquor.

Unfortunately for Callum, with relief came memory, and he buried his face in his arms. "I think I screwed up, Ginny," he mumbled.

Raising her eyebrows, she pulled him to his feet and gently shoved him towards a couch. "What do you mean?"

"Carriegan kissed me last night."

"And?"

"Cliona saw."

"Are you dating Cliona?" she asked simply, watching him like a hawk for his reaction.

"No," he answered slowly.

"Then why should it matter if you kissed Carriegan?"

"She kissed me," he corrected automatically. He had a pretty good idea of why it might matter, but that would involve admitting things that he really didn't want to admit to himself. Not yet. "Can we pretend I know where this conversation is going and leave it dead for right now?"

"Of course." She smoothed his auburn curls back away from his forehead. "Eighteen isn't an easy age, Callum; trust me, I remember. No one's forcing you to make a choice right now, but keep in mind, what you do affects more than just yourself." She sat back on the couch, eyeing his ensemble and biting her tongue. "So," she managed when she could speak again. "What did you think of last night besides that?"

"I honestly don't know how they can stand it," he admitted. "The get up was bizarre, it was noisy, crowded, hot, the majority of the people there were drunk, and I can't dance. Cli's band was good, though."

"Cliona has a band?" Ginny asked with a smile.

"Her and her brothers," he answered absently. "The Bunny Baiters." He smiled crookedly when the twenty-eight year old snorted into her hand. "Pretty much," he agreed dryly.

She watched him over her hands, letting the silence sink in around them.

Finally, he sighed. "What is it?"

"Do you think you're up to mending some fences without making any promises?" she asked.

"I'm a healer, Ginny, not Merlin himself."

"Give it a try, Callum," she ordered gently. "It's for your own good."

"That's what Heidi told me when she pushed me into the lake to teach me how to swim," he protested, and she swatted at him, chuckling.

"Go," she ordered again.

"Am I at least allowed to shower and get changed first?" he teased, kissing her cheek.

"Please do, your breath could drop a troll at fifty paces."

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Cliona and Kushiel had awoken several hours before, curled up on top of the covers, and gone their separate ways to shower and change. Feeling more or less refreshed, they ate a quick lunch at the Tables and then escaped outside to the fresh air. They brought their books with them, for all it was Saturday. They didn't really have any other plots on the burner at the moment, so they could spare a moment or two for the mundane world of academia.

Laying out stomach down on the grass, Kushiel cracked open a brand new book suggested to her by Professor Aberfoyle. After a lot of discussion, she'd decided to add Transfigurations to her list of summer studies. It wasn't her absolute strongest subject, but she was pretty good at it, and she definitely had goals for that class. She smiled when she felt Cli's head on her side, but it wasn't uncomfortable at all.

Cliona had brought her books out with her, surely enough, but she wasn't much in the mood to study. The image from last night had burned into her brain, and she couldn't seem to get rid of it, no matter how much she reminded herself of their almost four year old pact. Callum hadn't declared a partiality, she told herself severely. There was absolutely no reason he couldn't kiss Carriegan if he wanted to. And she didn't like him that much anyway.

Okay, so the last one was stretching it, and she knew it all too well, but what else was she supposed to do? She opened the non-biting Care of Magical Creatures book and tented it over her head, blocking out the direct sunlight. It was really getting a little too warm in her hoodie, but she didn't care, she was otherwise too comfortable to move.

Late in the afternoon, when she was all but asleep, a new scent invaded her reverie and she frowned into the pages of the book.

"What brings you out here?" she heard Kush ask neutrally.

"Ginny told me some fresh air might help clear up the remnants of this strange headache," he answered lightly, not failing to notice how neither of them looked away from their books. In their company, he was learning to read the small signals girls gave off; this was not one of the good ones.

"Ginny's a genius, then," Kushiel replied, turning the page. Without seeming to move, she groped to her side for Cliona's hand and squeezed it in question. After a moment, Cli sighed and squeezed back reluctantly.

"Hey, Kush, do you mind if-"

"I'm gonna head in," she said abruptly, carefully sliding out from underneath Cliona's head and getting to her feet. She picked up her books and looked Callum straight in the eye. He froze, more than a little afraid of her at the moment. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "No one's asking you to choose right now, boyo, but for the love of Nim, tread the line very carefully. I hurt people who hurt my friends, whether they intend to do so or not." Smiling sweetly at him, she strolled calmly into the school, leaving her staring after him.

Even with the absence of her pillow, Cli remained flat out on the grass, the book over her face. He simply looked at her for a moment, her upper half hidden in the comfortable hoodie, trying to match it to the energetic singer from the night before. Then again, the night before wasn't exactly something he really wanted to think about. Stifling a sigh, he sat down in Kush's empty hollow and gently placed Cli's head on his leg, feeling her tense at his touch. He simply kept his hand on her head, letting her relax, showing her that he had no evil designs or intentions.

They sat that way for quite some time, until he finally reached out and propped the book open on her chest, shielding her eyes from the sun while still letting him see her face. "If I try to say something," he began, "and it comes out tripping all over itself, will you let me straighten it out before you say anything?"

When she didn't respond, he took a deep breath and prayed that that meant yes. "I was stupid last night, because I just didn't think. And the alcohol is no excuse for that. I just didn't think." He smoothed back her hair, watching her expressionless face, and continued. "I like you, Cliona, but this is all very new to me. I was not ever someone girls went for, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. Or what I want to do, really. I'm sorry that I hurt you; that was certainly never my intent. Do you suppose, maybe, that we could just see where it goes? I know that's not fair, but I'm clueless, here."

She peered up at him, her dark brown eyes solemn. He bore her gaze stoically, trying not to fidget. "You don't really have anything to apologize for, you know," she told him finally. "Not technically. You haven't asked anyone out, you haven't declared your wish to be exclusive with anyone, so you can kiss who you wish."

"I'd rather give up the kissing if it means not being on the outs with you,' he confessed frankly. "Maybe in time we'll be something else, but for right now, you're my friend, Cliona. I don't want to hurt my friends."

A moment of silence fell between them, and she opened one eye a little further. "So what happened after Kush and I left?" she asked, and he chuckled.

"As far as I can remember?" he clarified ruefully, and she nodded. "Carriegan got yanked out onto the dance floor about five minutes after you left, and I escaped to a corner. Then I saw Aurelia pass out and dragged her over to a couch, and went looking for Carriegan. It took me about an hour to find her, and then even more time to get through the fuzz in both our brains that we needed to go home. So then, we had to carry Aurelia out without using any magic, and neither of us were any too steady on our feet, and we practically fell into the alley. The last thing I remember is landing in the entrance hall, and I have absolutely no idea how I got from there into my bed. But, I thank the gods that I woke up clothed, even if it was in those strange things they shoved me in before we left here."

"You looked hot in those," she laughed. "Hell, you were almost matching my brothers."

He smiled down at her, his fingers light against her forehead. "I wanted to meet them," he told her. "As soon as Kush told me that's who they were."

"I'm sure you'll get another chance."

"Preferably not at the same venue, though," he replied dryly, and she laughed.


	6. An End to Idyll

**Disclaimer: How many times do we really have to go over this?**

_A/N: Right now, I am sick and miserable and essentially hacking up my lungs, so you would make me feel a lot better if you hit that little button by 'submit review'. And don't forget to vote! Right now, Cliona is just padding the ballot box for herself!_

Chapter Six: An End to Idyll

The air was starting to cool and crisp, leaves turning scarlet, orange, and gold at their edges The summer was ending. It had some time yet, before it gave in completely to autumn's sleepy seduction, but its days were fading.

Cliona and Callum sat on the balcony of one of the towers, a light blanket wrapped about them, watching the sunrise burn weakly through the fog rolling off the hills towards the piedmont. He was a strong warmth at her back, his chin resting just above her ear where her head fit into the curve of his shoulder. It was a silent companionship, words neither needed nor wanted. She sighed and nestled a little further into him, feeling his arm tighten about her waist in reflex.

Nothing had really changed since after the night at Howl, but there was a plus side to that, she decided. Sure, he still hadn't declared a choice, and he'd exchanged kisses with several of the girls, but when he wanted companionship, he always came to her. She just really hoped that it didn't come back to bite her in the ass.

Light footsteps raced loudly up the steps of the tower, but she lazily restrained Callum when he tensed. She recognized those footsteps, and she was proven right when Kush burst through the door a moment later. "What's the emergency?" She asked calmly.

"Aidan just showed up at the gates," she answered simply, and Cliona scrambled to her feet, a panicked look in her eyes.

"Aidan? Are you serious?"

Callum rose to his feet slowly, his odd-eyed gaze passing solemnly between the two. "Why the hysteria?" he asked quietly. "Your boyfriend?"

"He wishes," both girls snorted derisively. They looked at each other and laughed, and Cliona shook her head, continuing. "Aidan used to be my best friend, he and my brother Cúan are the same age, the three of us used to be inseparable."

"But?"

"But then came the mating talk," she sighed, running a hand through her messy waves. "And after that he turned into the most annoying, irritating, persistent, pernicious suitor in existence!"

"Pernicious suitor…" he repeated slowly, not entirely believing what he'd just heard.

Kushiel shrugged, her red curls in loose disarray around her face. "We got a little too into the Shakespeare one time," she explained. "And he got named the pernicious suitor. Nowhere near as nummy as the Pernicious S'more."

Cliona giggled and Callum shook his head. Girls. As soon as you figured out one thing, they showed you twenty more puzzles.

"Anyway," she told him, "basic tactic is to run for as long as I can, and then send him off with a rousing volley of insults. You said he's got Cúan with him?"

"I woke up Carriegan, she's going to toy with him so that he can't help Aidan."

"Why don't you just tell him to go away?" he asked, and both girls stopped to stare at him.

"Good luck with that," Kushiel snickered. "I need to go get dressed, but where are you going to hide, just in case?"

Tugging on a lock of hair, Cliona considered her choices. "Unfortunately, he went to school here, so there's only so many places he doesn't know about…do you think I could get away with the dorms? He doesn't know the password."

"Not the password, but he does know the portrait, and you know how that one is. She thinks the lengths he goes to in order to pursue you are cute," Kush discounted.

"Aidan never did particularly well in Care of Magical Creatures, did he?" she mused. "The animals could never get past the whole 'werewolf' thing with him."

"The barn?"

"Do I have anyplace else at the moment?"

The Colubrae girl cocked her head thoughtfully to one side. "No, not so much," she agreed after a moment. "I made a deal with Jolly, he's going to detain Aidan by the fountain by whatever means necessary until I get out there, so if you leave by one of the side doors, you should be able to escape unnoticed. Callum, you staying or going?"

"I have no idea whatsoever is going on."

"He's coming," Cliona told her friend, taking the young man's arm. "He's got the blanket." She headed down the first several stairs, then stopped and looked back at her friend. "How on earth did you manage to make a deal with Jolly? He hates you even more than he dislikes me."

"He popped a hem," she shrugged. "I promised him I'd fix it tonight if he took care of Aidan. Appearances really mean a lot to him, you know."

"Right." Chuckling, Cliona continued on her way down the stairs, Callum trailing obediently along behind her.

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"Damn, you crazy ship!"

Cúan McCullough sat down on the edge of the fountain, laughing as he watched his best friend try to escape the attentions of the former pirate flag. Sure, he could have lent a hand, but where would be the fun in that?

"Trespasser! Ye'll not be invading me waters whilst I'm here to defend them!" The skull roared, the ship clipping towards Aidan McBride for a dead ramming.

A pretty redhead Cúan knew almost as well as his own sister emerged from the school, watching the scene with obvious amusement. Wearing tight blue jeans and a mint green peasant blouse pulled down off her shoulders, she presented a charming picture, and he knew very well that it was intentional. "Cúan," she greeted pleasantly. "What are you doing here?"

"At the moment? Watching Jolly try to kill Aidan," he replied with a chuckle.

Her vivid green eyes passed lightly over the scene, then back to Cúan. "Oh, what a shame. How have you been?"

Laughing even harder, he patted the seat next to him. "Sit down and watch the show, then, Kush, since you obviously have no inclination to help."

"He's not my best friend," she pointed out reasonably, taking the space.

"So where's my little sister?"

"Where she always is when Aidan's around."

"So where's she hiding this time?"

Green eyes met green eyes, both smiling. "Is it really hiding if I go around telling everyone where she is? Shame on you, Cúan, you know the game better than that."

"Kush! You said you'd wait for me!" Carriegan walked quickly down the stairs and came to sit next to her friend, her simple white pants suit elegant and flattering. "Hello, Cúan."

"Carriegan," he nodded, winking at her. Only a year older than Cliona, he'd spent a lot of time in the company of the girls, and he found them quite fun. "Are you going to help Aidan or will I just have to do it?"

"He's not my best friend," she answered, and Kushiel snickered impishly.

"Cúan!" Aidan yelled, ducking another cannon ball. "Are you going to help me or aren't you?"

"I suppose," Cúan sighed dramatically. "Hey, Jolly, could I do anything to convince you he's not trespassing?"

"He's a dirty rotten scoundrel!" the flag bellowed.

"Kush, please?"

"Why do you think he'll listen to me?" she protested with a laugh. "He doesn't even like me."

"No, but Cliona tells me he's scared of you, so that might just do it."

Sighing, Kushiel shook his head. "Coward." She whistled loudly to catch the flag's attention. "It's okay, Jolly, he's here with Cúan."

The ship left off tormenting its victim and floated over near the fountain. She winked at it conspiratorially, watching its smooth progress back into the building. As if in reminder, the flag popped one last time, it's ripped corner showing plainly.

"So, what are you doing here?" Carriegan asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Just visiting," he shrugged, running a hand over his short brown hair. "And Aidan, of course, wants to see the bunny."

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head, a single lock of deep teal hair falling over her forehead. "What is it going to take to convince him that she wants nothing to do with the pernicious suitor side of him?"

"Are you guys still calling him that?"

"Always," the two girls chorused, just as Aidan came up to them, straightening his clothes with an irate expression.

"Thank you so much for all your help," he told them sarcastically, smoothing his strawberry blonde hair.

"I called off Jolly, what more do you want?" Kushiel asked simply.

"Cúan, were you planning on going to see Professor Aberfoyle?" Carriegan rose to her feet and offered a hand to the boy. "His office moved during the summer, I can show you where it is, if you'd like."

Suppressing a grin, he took her hand and kissed it gallantly, tucking it in his arm. "Thank you, Miss Chantrea, I would appreciate that." He winked at Kush as the two headed into the school, and she waved cheekily.

"Have fun storming the castle!" she called. She gazed after them, running a mental count. One…two…three…four…

"So are you going to make this easier for everyone and just tell me where to find her?" Aidan demanded.

"I wasn't really planning on it, no," she returned merrily.

"You know I always find her."

"The simple fact that you have to find her should tell you something." She smiled sweetly, and he growled deep in his throat. "Now, now, Mister McBride, the full moon isn't for another week yet."

"So I suppose you're chaperoning me again? Making sure I can't get too close?"

She got slowly to her feet, dusting off her jeans, and continued to smile, though some of the sweetness was starting to slip for the steel beneath. "Aidan, I just follow you around to make sure you don't do anything stupid. I don't keep you from any areas except areas that are universally off limits, I do not prevent you from checking anything, I do not help her escape once you've found her. I know the rules of the game, old boy. So are you going to start so the rest of us can get on with our day, or what?"

Snorting derisively, he stalked into the castle, Kushiel following at her own pace.

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Cliona climbed the last rungs of the ladder up into the loft, where the hay and straw was kept for all the creatures housed below. Simply her nemesis' name had been all that was required to obtain Professor Ward's permission to be in the loft, and he'd pointedly looked down at his fall Quidditch schedule as they'd passed so he could honestly tell Aidan that he hadn't seen them. It was almost a game, she mused, wandering over to the huge open window at the end of the loft.

Callum came up behind her, dropping the blanket to let his hands slide around her waist and hold her close. "Would you like to maybe tell me now what's going on?" he whispered in her ear.

She sighed and stepped away from the window, continuing until she couldn't be seen from any angle outside the barn. She sank down onto the hay, wincing as it stuck through her shorts, and looked up at him. "Aidan is pack," she started simply. "The pack consists of three families: the McCulloughs, the McBrides, and the Roches. They were the three families that wanted to create as normal a pack community as possible, and when the Scottish Wolf Plague and Irish Potato Famine were so bad, they emigrated over here and formed a new community. That's how I grew up pack. Aidan is the same age as my brother Cúan, only a year older than me, and the three of us were always together growing up. Mam says I cried for nearly a week when they went off to school and I couldn't go with."

She sighed and picked at the battered, holey sole of her converse sneakers. "I came here the next year, and everything was fine again. But when we went home for the summer after my second year, everything changed. Mam and Da, and most of the adult members of the pack, pulled us and the others our age aside and gave us the mating talk. After that, Aidan started acting really strange around me. And it just got worse and worse, until I couldn't stand to be around him. But he wouldn't take the hint. I'm not interested in him that way, but he won't go away and leave me alone."

"So now he's the pernicious suitor," he surmised, dropping down next to her.

"Exactly."

"So he just randomly shows up and hunts for you?"

"Pretty much," she shrugged. "It bothers him that I hide from him, obviously, but by the time he finds me, he's so frustrated that it's relatively easy to push him over the edge and make Cúan have to take him home. It was harder when he was actually a student."

"I can well imagine." He folded the blanket in half to create a cushion and laid down on it, pulling Cliona onto it, as well. "Still, this is a pleasant enough way to spend the morning," he noted, nuzzling her ear. "But I must say, Kush looks kind of scary with her hair like that."

Cliona laughed softly. "She had probably just woken up, and then run through the entire castle to make sure I had warning. What did you expect to see?"

"A peaceful sunrise and rolling green hills," he answered dryly, and she elbowed him none too gently.

"Surprises happen."

"Oh, trust me, I know that. I've lived with Ginny for ten years, you learn very quickly that surprises happen. And then you learn that she's either behind them or has something to do with them."

Giggling, she tried to muffle the sound in her hand before she could snort. "Don't make me laugh so hard," she hissed. "He has very good hearing."

"Then we'll just have to not talk, won't we?"

"So you want to sit here for who knows how many hours without talking at all? That'll be a little boring, don't you think?"

"Not really."

"How do you-" The rest of her sentence was abruptly cut off by his lips. She smiled for a second into his mouth, then closed her eyes and focused on the wholly pleasurable task of thoroughly kissing Callum.

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"Don't you get tired of just following me around?" Aidan snarled, barely resisting the urge to slam the tower door in the troublesome girl's face.

"It's rather entertaining, actually," Kushiel answered lightly, glancing around the room she'd rushed into two hours before. "I think it only bothers you because I'm not following you out of infatuation."

"De Navarre, tell me where she is."

"You don't scare me, McBride, and nothing you can do will make me tell you," she told him fearlessly. "And if you haven't noticed, my last name doesn't lend itself all that well to that particular form of use."

Growling, he shrugged past her and jogged down the stairs, finally on her scent. Kushiel followed utterly unconcerned. She knew he would head straight towards them now, but we was well worked up; Cliona shouldn't have too much trouble stoking the fire. Then Kush could run for Cúan, and it would be a while before Aidan felt brave enough to come back.

She broke into a light jog when they reached the courtyard to keep up with him as he raced across the grounds towards the towering barn that held the magical creatures, panting slightly when they flew up the ladder into the lofts, the sounds of highly disgruntled animals following them. She almost hit the haystack laughing when Callum and Cliona sat up suddenly, bits of hay in their hair and clothing.

Aidan's brow drew together furiously, his lips curling back. "Who in the hell are you and what are you doing with Cliona?" he demanded fiercely.

Callum smiled tenderly and gently pulled a piece of straw from Cliona's messy waves. "My names is Callum Sleipak, and I was believe I was making out with her."

Cliona and Kushiel both stared at him, not expecting that answer. It was very clear that Aidan wasn't, either. His gold eyes flashed viciously. "Step away from her."

"Kush."

"Right with you, Cli," she murmured, edging back towards the ladder. She slid down the rungs and broke into a flat run, arms pumping at her sides as she aimed for the main building. Her breath gasped in her lungs, and then she found out exactly who she was looking for. His hands stuck casually in his pockets, Cúan strolled in the vague direction of the barns. "Cúan!" she yelled.

"Hey, Kush, what is it?"

"I think Aidan's about to deck Callum," she told him quickly, grabbing his arm. "Come on!"

They took off side by side, racing back to the barn. They ignored the irritated noises of the animals and the equally annoyed demand of Professor Ward as they shot up the ladder just in time to see Aidan's fist connect with Callum's jaw.

"Oh, shit," Kushiel groaned.

But Cúan's attention was not on his best friend attacking the school's apprentice healer. "Cliona Conn McCullough, is that a hickey on your neck?"

Flushing a violent red, she shook her head fiercely. "Cúan, do you suppose you could control your best friend?"

"Oh, all right, if you insist," he sighed, reaching over and grabbing a fistful of strawberry blonde hair, yanking back hard. Aidan came tumbling back, falling across Cúan's feet. "Come on, Aidan," he chuckled. "No fighting."

"But he-"

"Hush." He gave his friend a look, one that was sufficient to keep him grumling but unresisting. "Well, it's been fun and all, we should try this again. Write Mam, Cliona, she hasn't heard much from you this summer."

"Will do," she groaned, tugging at a wavy lock to try to hide the purplish mark on her neck. "Can you leave now please?"

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Kushiel froze, staring at the door to the Great Hall. "Cliona," she hissed. "Why is your Da here?"

"What?" she yelped, twisting around in her seat.

There in the doorway stood Conri McCullough II, Alpha of Pack McCullough. A mountain of a man, he had dignified streaks of silver along the sides and back of his brown hair, rugged mouth framed by a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. Deep chocolate brown eyes scanned the hall, resting briefly on his daughter, who was suddenly very glad for the tie covering her neck, and then on Callum, seated for once up at the High Table with Remus. Walking slowly, he entered the room and paced up to the High Table, turning his attention to the man seated in the middle.

"Can I please speak with you, Headmaster Dowling?" he asked gravely, and, mystified, Clark wiped his mouth off with his napkin and rose to his feet.

"Of course, Mister McCullough," he replied politely, leading the man out of the Great Hall.

Kush and Cliona stared at each other across the Enigmus table, both pale. "I can't believe that we forgot how big Cúan's mouth is," Kushiel breathed.

"How badly do you suppose it got distorted before Da heard it?"

"If it's badly enough to bring him here?" the redhead reminded.

"You're right. I should hide."

"No, you need to follow them, make sure you can explain things to him before he can tell the wrong version to the Headmaster."

Leaving their food and friends with no explanation, the two girls jogged out into the entrance hall. They hurried up behind the two men, and they could see the elder McCullough's nostrils flare with the scent.

"Da, what brings you here?" Cliona asked brightly, coming to her father's side.

"How dare you ask me that, Cliona Conn McCullough?" he demanded in a low growl. His daughter took a half step back. "You shame the pack and the clan by acting this way."

"By acting what way?" she asked in confusion.

The sphinx opened the door for them ahead of Clark's steps and all four entered the office. Clark raised his eyebrows at Kush, but she shook her head and gestured vaguely to Cliona.

Conri II exploded once he was inside. "How could you do such a thing?" he cried, turning to face her. "Does the honor of the pack mean nothing to you? Where did your Mam and I go wrong that you could even think that it would be all right!"

"Daddy, what are you talking about?" Cliona asked, her voice shaking slightly.

"And so careless!" he continued, hands slicing through the air as he gestured. "In the hay, Cliona? You couldn't even dignify it with a bed?"

"Daddy, I-"

"I should drag you home right now and not let you out of my sight," he ranted, "What do you think this did to your poor Mam?"

"Sir, I think there's maybe been a misunderstanding, " Kushiel interjected politely, keeping her eyes downcast and voice low. If she had to risk interrupting him, it was the right posture to take. She kept her submissive posture, having absorbed a great deal from dome holidays spent with the pack in Southeastern Pennsylvania. "What do you think happened?"

The pack elder exhaled sharply and took a new breath, forcing himself to calm slightly. Clark sat down behind his desk, just observing, waiting to step in until he was needed. "Conri told your Mam that you were rolling in the hay with some boy you'd met at school, just out in the open. Ye broke poor Aidan's heart!"

Cliona sat down heavily on one of the chairs, her mouth working soundlessly. Biting her lower lip, Kushiel perched on the padded arm, holding her friend to her side. Now things were starting to make sense, in a sick twisted kind of way. "Sir," she said carefully. "Cliona and Callum did not have sex, if that's what you're thinking happened." The elder Conri blushed, and she continued. "And as for breaking Aidan's heart, the boy's an idiot. Conri has never wanted to be with Aidan, and has never encouraged him in this belief."

Conri accepted the Headmaster's invitation to sit down, steepling his fingers against his nose and watching the two girls. He thought he knew his daughter, although recent events had thrown that into question, but he thought he knew his daughter's friend, as well. Kushiel would lie, yes, if she thought it was for the best, but she also knew when the truth was best. He took a breath, sifting through the scents, and reluctantly had to accept that she was telling the truth. He also knew, however, that where there was smoke, there had to be a fire. "Remove your tie, Cliona," he said heavily.

Her face a painful red, Cliona stared resolutely at her shoes and slowly undid the tie, slipping it down to pool in her lap. Kushiel and the Headmaster both winced at the rather obvious hickey on the right side of the neck. Deep purple in the center, it was ringed with pink and red in what were undeniably teeth marks.

Bracing his elbow on his desk, Clark rested his chin in hand and regarded the hickey bemusedly. "Is that from Mister Sleipak?" he asked ruefully.

"…yes, sir," she cringed.

"Cliona, I absolutely forbid you to see that boy!" Conri snapped.

"Daddy!"

"No arguments, young lady!" he growled, and she fell back into her seat again. "This is absolutely inappropriate behaviour, and I will not have it."

"But, Daddy," she pleaded.

"Cliona, your father has a point," the Headmaster put in mildly, and they all turned to look at him. "The behaviour was inappropriate; you were on school grounds, with a member of my staff, regardless of the fact that he's your age, and those actions led to this."

"But, sir-"

"May I, Mister McCullough?" he asked politely, and the man nodded slowly. "Cliona, you are not to see Callum until I say otherwise. If you cannot control yourselves, then you will be forced to learn restraint, but I will not have an incident like this repeated. If you have an injury, you are to see Nurse Kayenta, and I will not," he added, fixing an eye on Kushiel, "hear of anyone else arranging meetings for you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered hoarsely, tears of shame pricking at her eyes.

Conri reached forward and squeezed his only daughter's knee. "What shall I tell your Mam?" he asked quietly.

She swallowed hard and looked up at him, brown eyes hard. "You can tell her that I can't see my friend that I've been telling her about because Aidan once again stuck his snout where it had no business being. And you can tell her that I love her but don't know if I'll be coming home for Christmas, because I will no longer put myself in a position to be bothered by Aidan."

Sighing, he stood and bent down to kiss her gently on the forehead. "Ye do know I love ye, Cliona. If nothing else, you know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Daddy, I do. And I love you, too. I just don't like you very much right now."

"Cliona, can you please see your father out and then go to your dorm for the remainder of the evening?"

"Yes, sir." She rose, her tie held tightly in her fist, and followed her father out the door. Kushiel rose to follow, but was stopped by the Headmaster's voice.

"Stay here, please, Kush."

"Sir?" she asked, retreating to her desk in the corner. She perched on the top of her chair, feet resting in the seat, and turned to face him.

Instead of answering immediately, he reached for a scrap of parchment and wrote out a swift note on it. He stepped over to his black owl, stroking the gold lined feathers for a moment, then attached the note to its leg. He looked into the regal bird's white eyes and spoke clearly. "Take to this Callum, please, Anubis."

Anubis hooted once and took off, floating through the opening door.

Regaining his seat, Clark took the time to regard her carefully, but her face gave nothing away. "So what really happened out there today?"

She sighed and tugged absently at the end of her long braid. "We got word that Aidan was at the gates, so I went and warned Cli, and she and Callum went to hide in the barn. They had been planning on spending the day together anyway. We went through the traditional nonsense of him turning over every stone on campus and then he figured out the barn, so I followed him like I always do."

"And saw what?" he prodded when she stopped.

"We saw Callum and Cliona necking in the hay," she said simply, shrugging eloquently. "Aidan got territorial, Callum stayed calm, so I ran to get Cúan, because he's always able to get Aidan home before it gets out of hand, but when he got there, the first thing we saw was Aidan decking Callum."

"What?" he demanded, startled.

Her lips twisted into a cynical smirk. "Yes, I'm willing to bet Aidan wasn't too quick to tout that fact around back at the den, especially since he can't call it a fight. Callum wouldn't hit back, and then Cúan pulled him off our boyo."

Clark groaned and sank his head into his hands. "Why is nothing ever simple?" he chuckled wryly.

"Because then it wouldn't be any fun," she returned lightly. She watched him for a moment, her emerald eyes grave. "Sir, I understand the reasoning, but does it have to be no contact at all? Could I at least pass notes between them, as long as they aren't in each other's presence?"

He looked up at her bemusedly. "You're a good friend, you know that?"

"Sir?"

"Yes, Kush, you can pass notes like in grade school," he laughed.

"Grade school, hell, try Arithmancy," she muttered, smiling sweetly at his stern look. He gave up a second later.

"You are too much."

"I can but try."

Anubis soared back into the room, nipping Clark lightly on the ear before reclaiming his perch. A moment later, a hesitant knock could be heard on the door. "Headmaster? You sent for me?" Callum's voice called through.

"Come in, please, Mister Sleipak," he greeted, the smile slipping from his face.

Callum entered and Kushiel could see the faint purple beneath the sheen of bruise balm. "How can I help you, sir?"

"I hear you got into a fight with Aidan McBride this afternoon?"

The younger man froze and barely glanced at the girl, who shrugged imperceptibly. "I wouldn't really call it that, sir," he answered carefully. "More like a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?" he echoed. "And I suppose this misunderstanding made the bruise just magically appear on your jaw?"

His fingers flew up automatically to touch it, smearing across the salve as he flushed. "In a way," he allowed.

Clark sighed again and shook his head. They were going to make him old before his time. "Well, in case you missed the spectacle at dinner, Mister McCullough was here. Apparently he was told that you and Cliona had taken a different kind of roll in the hay. However," he continued, over Callum's sudden protests, "he was not all that appeased by the giant hickey you left on her neck. So, you and Cliona cannot see each other, cannot be in the same room as each other except at meals and then not at the same tables, until I say otherwise. Kushiel has offered to pass notes between you, which I will allow, but no more than that. I would not advise you test me on this. And in the future, Mister Sleipak, please be a little more circumspect. You are a member of this staff, albeit an apprentice one, and I must ask you to remember that status."

"Yes, sir," he said quietly, his odd eyes fixed on the floor.

"You may go, then."

Kushiel let out her breath as her friend walked out the door, closing it gently behind him. "Oy, hormones."

Laughing, Clark reached out a hand and stroked Anubis' downy chest. "What, you're not affected by them, Kush?"

"Affected, yes, controlled, no," she answered smugly. "Things are ever so much more entertaining that way." Her smile abruptly faded as her eyes fell on the black leather duster, not draped casually over the back of the chair as it usually was, but hung carefully up around the gleaming, battered armor. "Are you going on a mission tonight, sir?"

"Yes, we finally have a firm location on the painter. It's taken us too long to get rid of him."

She stared at the battered armor, the reports springing into the forefront of her mind. Lately, it seemed that the words had been haunting her periphery, waiting to spring up in her thoughts. Her eyes flicked to the dried rose he'd brought her from the last plotter they'd captured, the sign of Persephone, then back to the armor. Her gut roiled within her, and she had to swallow around the sudden lump of fear in her throat. The last time she could recall feeling this way was right before she said goodbye to her best friend and first sweetheart Henri before he went off to apprentice with a Wee Wizards' Daycare; later that evening, she'd received the owl from his mother stating that he'd been killed when the school was attacked.

"Sir," she managed, her mouth suddenly dry. "I don't think you should go tonight, any of you."

"What do you mean?" he asked quickly, dark eyes narrowing.

"I just have a really bad feeling about it."

"Kraven never told us you have the Sight."

"I don't," she answered tersely, mildly irritated by his levity. "I just get hunches, every now and then. Nothing clear or specific, just tied to something. I don't think the Dark Hunters should go on this mission tonight."

"Kush, we have to," he said gently, coming to stand near her. "He's been gaining power over so many muggles and wizards, and he's been killing them as he no longer needs them. We have to stop him now."

"But we're missing something," she argued urgently, "something big. Sir, please, I know I'm almost there, just please don't go out tonight."

He laid his hand against her shoulder and squeezed lightly, causing her to fall silent. "I'm beginning to think maybe they were right," he confessed, leaning against her desk. "I think I've set you on a fool's errand, Kush."

"But that's just it, sir, I don't think you have," she pleaded. She brushed a wisp of hair behind her ear and took a steadying breath. "There's a pattern in everything she does. There's some kind of logic to it, even if the specific steps are still escaping me. But, the reason it's so important is that it's a fundamental difference in the way she thinks, the way she approaches things. Her cronies are getting harder and harder to beat, they're more powerful, they're smarter now. Wouldn't that indicate that you're on the right track in trying to find out why she's different? Even the British Aurors have agreed with you, she's not like Lord Voldemort. Using the same tactics isn't going to work anymore. Sir, please."

Silence stretched out between them, and it was with genuine regret that he slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry, Kush. This may be our only chance to eliminate him, and he's just getting too dangerous. We have to go, and we have to go tonight."

Sighing, she sank down properly into her chair, forehead on her knees. "Will you promise to be careful, then? Will you at least promise that?"

"I'm always careful, Kush, you know that."

"I don't mean your careful, I mean Nurse Kayenta careful," she retorted without looking up. "We're already having to break in a new Defense prof, I'd really rather not have to train a new Headmaster, too."

He laughed and ran his hand across her back in soothing circles. "We'll be careful," he promised. "We have our protections, and our armors, and we have each other as back up. There's also a team of SWAT waiting on standby should we need them. We'll be okay."

"Are you nearly ready, Clark?" A voice asked from beyond the door, and Clark stepped away from Kush just as it opened to reveal Professor Bloodthorne, head of Colubrae house.

"Nearly, yes," he replied lightly. "Just need to dress."

"Try not to take so long with your hair this time," the tall man returned dryly. He glanced at the student sitting up in her chair, her eyes scanning the lines on one the painter's reports. "How goes your research, Kushiel?"

"I feel like I'm chasing the white rabbit," she replied ruefully. "It's right at the tip of my fingers."

He nodded, absently adjusting the brooch holding his cloak. "It can be like that, yes, but I stand by what I told the Headmaster at the end of spring term; you are well suited for this."

"Thank you, sir," she murmured. She eyed him for a moment, knowing that the Headmaster would have a hard time hearing anything while putting on his armor. "Professor," she asked hesitantly, "have you Seen anything about tonight's mission?"

Kraven looked at her sharply but her face was a mystery, lost in thought. "No," he admitted warily. "Which can be both good and bad. Why?"

"I've just got a bad feeling about it, is all," she told him resignedly.

"I thought you agreed to stick to interpreting dreams in your Divination studies." His lips stopped their path of barest smiles at the frustrated look that flew briefly across her face. "Have you ever had this kind of feeling before?"

"Right before Henri died," she affirmed, "and the first couple of times were before really bad storms back home. It was never sensitive enough to be called a Gift, and this is only the fourth or fifth time in my whole life I've ever felt it, but…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "I don't like it."

Clark came back over before he could reply, smoothing the black cowboy hat over his hair, the Eye of Horus blazing suddenly around his right eye. "Try not to stay up all night again, Kush, you need your sleep."

"Yes, sir," she mumbled.

He chucked her under the chin, gently forcing her to meet his eyes. "I promised you we'd be careful, remember? I even agreed to promise to Robin's definition of careful. We'll be fine."

"Good luck, sirs," she said instead, and watched them leave, settling in with the reports for a long wait.

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Kushiel passed the night fairly peacefully, if she ignored the tension knotting her shoulders. She sifted through almost a dozen more reports, adding their details to her extensive notes. When Jolly floated in, she took a break to make the promised mend to his flag and dignity, complimenting him on his masterful handling of Aidan, or as the ship called him, 'that scurrilous dog'. More often than not, her eyes fell on the dried rose, trying to pinpoint exactly why her instinct told her it was so important. It was one of the flaws with her research, she mused ruefully. Sometimes she got these hunches and she just couldn't let them go, and just kept looking.

At nearly four, Anubis screamed and took off from his perch, batting at the door and glaring at the girl with white eyes. Mystified, she opened the door for him and followed him at a jog through the halls. At the top of the stairs leading down to the Entrance Hall she froze, while the bird continued overhead, circling over the chaos that swarmed beneath them.

Government men, some in suits but more in SWAT gear scurried about like mice, and she could see Professor Aberfoyle scowling in a most un-Aberfoyleish fashion at something someone told him. Stretchers were scattered across the surface, and her heart sank to see who occupied them. Some were SWAT men that she didn't know, but there was the Headmaster, Professors Bloodthorne, Kobiyashi, and Ward not far away.

The sight of the blood snapping her out of it, she fairly flew down the stairs and raced to the infirmary. She was guessing by Anubis' reaction that they had just arrived, and she didn't know if anyone had gone to fetch Nurse Kayenta yet. Her first guess was that they probably hadn't, because the hospital wing was empty and strangely silent. Leaving the doors open, she ran down the hall three doors and pounded rudely on the nurse's private chambers.

Robin opened the door, her eyes still nearly shut as she squinted sleepily. "Kushiel, what could possibly-"

"They're back," she interrupted, "and they're hurt."

Well, that woke her up. Robin grabbed her robes from by the door and threw them on over her nightgown, walking briskly alongside the student "How badly?"

"Badly enough that they're on stretchers. What do you want me to do?"

Robin stopped and looked at the girl, compassion clear on her face. She understood the need to do something upon discovery, but there was the simple fact that the girl was not a trained healer. "Go wake up Callum and Ginny," she told her gently. "Not Elena; I don't want her to see this kind of thing, not with her professors. It's too late to spare you from that. Tell them to go straight to the infirmary."

Nodding, Kushiel took back to her run, not even thinking about the effort as she found Callum's doors. Her fist went at the door like a jackhammer; Callum wasn't the lightest of sleepers, she'd found through the girls' mild pranks over the summer. He finally came to the door, a sheet wrapped around his waist.

"Kush, what the hell-"

"Get to the infirmary now," she ordered, not giving him time to finish his complaint. "They came back from their mission and they're badly hurt. I'm going to wake up Ginny now."

"Their password is 'bumbles'," he told her, shaking the cobwebs out of his mind. "Use it so you don't wake up the children. Remus and Ginny are the farthest door in, the red one."

"Thanks." She left him at his door and continued on to the Lupins, her breath started to burn in her throat. She murmured the password, gently swinging the door open, and closed it behind her instead of letting it fall shut. With the long practice of a chronic-prankster, Kushiel slipped through the red door and over to the bedside, suddenly wishing with all her heart that the Lupins didn't sleep in the nude like Callum. She was in luck, although she did take a moment to appreciate the inspiration for Callum's pajamas. The sheep were a stroke of genius.

She came up on the left side of the bed and whispered, "Ginny, we need you."

The woman woke up slightly, enough to garble a "Huh?", and Kushiel reached out to gently shake her shoulder. "We need you in the infirmary," she repeated.

Ginny came completely awake, reaching for the wand and robe on her nightstand. "Let's go, then," she yawned, shrugging into the robe and tying it shut.

After giving her the bare details, which were really all she knew anyway, the girl left her to make her own way to the infirmary and raced back to the entrance hall. It was still a madhouse, kept slightly quiet on behalf of the sleeping students, but it didn't seem like anything was getting done. She approached Professor Aberfoyle, usually very mild and laid back, but now glaring fiercely at everything. "Sir?" she asked, steeling herself not to wince when the glare fell on her. "Can I help bring people into the infirmary? Nurse Kayenta, Ginny Lupin, and Callum Sleipak are all there preparing for the injured."

The glare faded a little with surprise, and he nodded slowly. "How are you with Levitation spells?"

"I don't break anything decorating the house for Christmas," she answered, and he actually smiled.

"Then take the Headmaster," he instructed. "He's the worst injured. Maybe if these idiots see someone doing something constructive, they'll join in."

Nodding absently, she found the Headmaster's stretcher and very carefully avoided looking at his injuries, knowing she would fall apart. Instead, she focused on his face, where there were still smears of blood, some of it from a long gash across his temple. The Eye of Horus had faded some time ago, she guessed. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her wand out of her back pocket. "Wingardium Leviosa," she incanted, raising the stretcher a few feet off the ground. She could have brought it higher, but in case anything happened, she wanted to be able to get him down quickly.

He opened his eyes and regarded her when she spoke, and she nodded gravely, gently directing her load towards the hospital wing. He closed his eyes again after a moment, clearly exhausted, and she winced. Delivering him into the care of Nurse Kayenta, she returned several minutes later with Professor Kobiyashi, then later with two men from SWAT. Professor Aberfoyle and two suited wizards brought in the rest.

Once in the infirmary, she was ignored, as the healers went to each bedside determining what could wait and what couldn't. She caught Nurse Kayenta's arm as she passed. "What can I do?" she asked calmly.

"Kushiel-"

"I know I'm not a trained Healer, but I can fetch, I can carry, I can take notes or bandage or hold hands or something! Please, Nurse Kayenta, give me something to do."

Regarding the desperation in the seventh year's eyes, Robin sighed and nodded. "Come with me, then; I need someone to keep Clark from fighting me. He never admits that he's as injured as he is."

She sighed in something that was almost relief, following the woman to the bedside. She perched on the side of the mattress, taking his hand. It was something she'd wanted to do for a while, but she wished she didn't have the opportunity to do so now. He turned his head and opened his dark eyes again to look at her. "I thought you promised me you were going to be careful," she said lightly. His mouth opened but she laid her other hand against it. "Ah, ah, this is a lecture, not a discussion, hold all comments, please," she continued, feeling the ghost of a smile beneath her fingertips. "You scared poor Anubis half to death. He knew as soon as you were back, and probably would have bit my head off if he didn't know he needed me to open the door." She squeezed his hand gently. "So, for punishment for disregarding a direct promise of your care and safety, you have to do everything Nurse Kayenta tells you, absolutely no arguments. If she asks you a question, you answer it completely with fact, not with opinion. Do we understand each other?"

Smiling as she worked on cleaning his wounds, Robin watched him nod bemusedly. "I will need my mouth to speak, though," he mumbled, and flushing, the girl withdrew her hand from his face.

"Kushiel, can you put some pressure right here?" Robin asked, pressing down with her thumb on the man's wrist. "I need to bandage his hand."

She carefully slid her hand over the wrist and pressed her thumb against the artery, slowing the passage of blood. "Lysander would be having a field day," she noted, and he chuckled weakly.

A moment later, the hand was bandaged, and Ginny was calling for assistance. Robin nodded, and the girl went over to help. The redhead's patient was a giant of a man, though nowhere as big as Hagrid, and she simply couldn't reach all the way around his torso with the roll of bandages. Kushiel aided her in that, then went to help Professor Kobiyashi. Propping the slender woman up in her arms, Kushiel held the glass against her lips and carefully tilted it back some. "Drink slowly, ma'am, otherwise it'll make you sick," she instructed softly. The Charms professor seemed confused, not altogether there, but then, there were more than slicing hexes being bandied about on these missions.

As she administered the Dreamless Sleep Potion to the last of her patients, Robin looked around, Morning light bled through the windows, and she guessed that it must be nearly seven or eight. All their wounded were sleeping, and Polonius had gone off with the suited men to answer the last of the questions and fill out the beginning paperwork on the disastrous mission. Ginny yawned as she pulled the blanket up to Kraven's chin, smoothing it out absently. Callum sat at his desk, chin propped up on his elbow as he filled out charts and copied over notes, keeping the files updated. New charts had to be made for the SWAT gentlemen, and those sat at his elbow waiting to be done.

Her weary eyes fell upon Kushiel, still fully clothed from the day before, sitting on the side of Clark's bed and gently brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead. Blood was spattered all over her pale green top, some of it dried nearly to brown, some still glistening redly.

Callum, too, was keeping an eye on his friend, but he had the advantage of knowing several things that his apprentice-master did not. Thoughtfully, he laid down his quill on the file he was working on and approached the nurse. "Ma'am, would it be possible to send a summons to Cliona?" She looked at him narrowly and he realized a half-second after he said it how it sounded. "For Kush, I mean," he added. "It's probably best that she not just kind of sit here worrying; it'll take time for them to heal. Cliona could get her to bed, possibly."

"All right," she sighed, nodding. "Go ahead and get her, Callum."

"Um, I'm not actually allowed to," he mumbled. "Long story, really, but I'm not allowed to be around her until further notice from the Headmaster. I just know that Kush is more likely to listen to her than to anyone else."

Smiling bemusedly, Robin sent a house elf to fetch the Enigmus girl, really wondering at that particular turn of events. Now was not the time for such stories, however, entertaining as they may be.

It was nearly ten minutes before Cliona emerged into the hospital wing, brown hair standing every which way around her face and yawning into her pajamas. "Yes, ma'am?" she asked the nurse, almost unintelligible through the yawn.

"I need you to please get Kushiel to bed," Robin told her softly. "I don't want her to stay here and worry."

"Worry about what?" Cliona glanced around, her brown eyes still crusted with sleepies.

"Some of the people in those beds are professors," Robin answered, her voice low. "And that fact I must ask you to keep quiet. Kushiel has been here helping all night, and she needs to get some rest."

"Yes, ma'am," Cliona agreed, mostly awake now. She followed the nurse to the Headmaster's bed and just watched her friend for a moment. Kushiel still hadn't mentioned anything of her crush, though Cliona had subtly asked of its existence several times through the summer. It was obvious now, however, to anyone who knew to look for it, and probably to several that didn't. The redhead worried her lower lip anxiousy, a smear of blood high on her cheek from where she'd pushed back a rebel wisp of hair.

"Kush," she whispered. "Come on, we need to get you cleaned up."

She trained green eyes on her friend. "What are you doing here, Cli?"

"Nurse Kayenta sent for me," she answered. "Come on, we need to get you cleaned up," she repeated.

Letting out her breath, Kushiel gently placed the Headmaster's hand by his side and stood up, joints popping loudly in protest. "He promised they'd be careful," she muttered absently.

Cliona draped her arm around her friend's shoulders and held her close as they walked slowly. "It's hard to see someone you admire so much in so weak a position," she said mildly, and Kush nodded wearily. "Especially when that affection is more than just respect."

"Cliona…"

"Your breath catches around him," she explained. "I've known since June, Kush, why didn't you just tell me?"

"I guess because part of me was hoping it wasn't true," she sighed, leaning into the other girl's warmth. "He's the Headmaster, and he'd never do anything inappropriate with a student. Besides, he wouldn't ever notice me that way."

"Then why does his breath catch, too?" Cliona whispered in her friend's ear.

"Cli, I'm too tired to go through this right now," she whimpered. "Is it at all possible to take a rain check for the next heart to heart?"

"Sure, sweetie." She almost tripped when the redhead stopped suddenly at the end of Professor Kobiyashi's bed. "What is it?"

"I didn't even notice this before, but she's holding one of the paintings," she pointed out, staring at the five by eight canvas. She gently took it from the sleeping professor's grasp and examined it. "It really is hideous."

"Got that right," Cliona agreed, wrinkling her nose at it.

Kush turned the canvas to every angle, trying to figure out which way was up, but soon surrendered to the headache that had been building for several hours. "You have to wonder, though; some people really consider crap like this art."

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," the girl shrugged.

Kushiel froze, her eyes stuck on the painting. "That's right," she said abruptly. "It is, isn't it, and not everyone agrees on what makes something beautiful." Cliona simply stared at her. "That's it, that's got to be it," she breathed.

"Kush…"

The redhead broke into a run, dashing out of the infirmary doors and leaving four sets of bewildered eyes staring after her. She ran to the Headmaster's office, more specifically, to her little desk in the corner, laying the painting on it and pulling out her notes.

"You're covered in blood, fire-hair, you trying to take over my job?" a voice inquired.

"Not now, Lysander."

"Are they injured?" he queried, his entire face lighting up. "How bad is it? Will they die?"

"No, Lysander, now shut up."

"Perhaps Clark will die," he mused dreamily. "Then his enchantments will fade and I can find my body. When I do the first thing I'll do will be to-"

He stopped abruptly when a wand thudded heavily between his eyes. He stared at Kushiel, actually a little frightened by the fury in her cold green eyes. "One more word, Lysander. Go ahead and test me on it, just one more word." Clamping his lips together, he shook his head, and her wand went back into her pocket.

"That's it!" she exclaimed, her hand closing gently around the dried flower. "It was so obvious, the entire time." Shaking her head, she sank into her chair. "So simple, and yet so huge." Finally, the tears started flowing, and she gave into them, burying her face in her knees as Bast nuzzled soothingly against her side.


	7. A Question of Beauty

**gDisclaimer: I really don't know why I keep repeating myself.**

_A/N: You know, most of you still haven't gotten the full grasp of this reviewing concept. Let's give it a go, shall we? And, of course, kudos out to Aurelia, Carriegan, Cliona, and Elowen. What fun, yeh?_

_A/N2: By the by, in case you haven't picked up on this yet, Avistrum is a real school. If you don't believe me, Google the name and come check us out!_

Chapter Seven: A Question of Beauty

Clark was aware when he stopped dreaming, though he hadn't made the full climb into awareness yet. His mind sifted back through his strange dream; it wasn't that uncommon, really. He had nightmares about missions going wrong all the time, but this was something different. It had a different kind of feel to it, a new tone that he couldn't quite place.

He made to turn over, sink back into his pillows, but a sharp pain stabbed through his back and shoulders. There was also only one pillow. Even in the midst of his worst nightmares, there was never only one pillow on his bed. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the streaming light, and saw, not his room, but a much larger room, with a great deal more space. It took him a few moments, his head still fuzzy with potions, but he got there eventually: he was in the hospital wing. It hadn't been a dream.

Groaning, he sank back into the pillow, singular, and closed his eyes. There was something else amiss, though, and he quickly reopened his eyes and trained them on the shape at the side of the bed. Gradually, it focused into a chair inhabited by a lump barely recognizable as a redhead curled up. "Kush?" he croaked, not entirely certain if he was seeing correctly.

She started awake, scrambling for the open book sliding from her lap and made a last minute save, madly clutching the arms of the chair to keep herself from pitching the rest of the way forward. Flushing hotly, she calmly closed the book and set it on the nightstand, turning to look at him. "How do you feel, sir?"

"Confused," he admitted, slowly shaking his head.

Pouring him a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table, she handed it to him and watched him drink it, using it to give him a thorough check-over. He winced with every movement, but she knew very well that he wasn't going to admit to any of it; Nurse Kayenta had given her a very thorough briefing on what to expect. Silently, she took the empty glass back from him and filled it halfway with water, carefully mixing in a pain potion as well. She gave it back to him with him none the wiser, resting her chin on her knee. "You promised you'd be careful," she noted lightly, and shadows filled his eyes.

"It was a disaster from minute one," he confessed, struggling to sit up. She stood and stole a few pillows from empty beds, placing them behind him and helping him sit up. Without a word, she simply curled back up in her chair, watching him. "We didn't even get him; he wasn't there."

"So what happened?" she asked, brows drawing together in a puzzled frown.

"He left his paintings," he answered flatly. "Tyler and Sachiko were checking them while the rest of us scouted around the studio, seeing if there was anything important. And then they were taken in by the paintings. They started firing off curses and hexes at us, and our armor is only spelled against enemies, so that healing spells can get through. It was like our protections weren't even there."

She hid her shock and horror at what he was relating, knowing that wasn't the reaction he needed to see, but her mind screamed at it, at the innate wrongness of having to defend yourself against your friends. His hand closed on the bedsheets, knuckles turning white with the strain, and she reached out to touch his bandaged wrist lightly. "I think I can understand what happened from there, sir," she said lowly, and he nodded, hand slowly releasing. "The painting is locked up now," she added.

"What painting?"

"The painting that Professor Kobiyashi was clutching when you came back," she elaborated. "Which, by the way, is possibly even more hideous than you'd led me to believe. I locked it up in the cabinet that holds all the notes."

"That was good thinking, Kush," he complimented. He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the support. A large part of him wanted her gone from the infirmary, didn't want her seeing him so weak. She'd been right in asking him not to go, but he hadn't listened, and they could all have died.

"So how many dried roses were around the studio?" she asked suddenly.

He looked at her sharply, not failing to notice her disheveled hair or blood-stained shirt. "What have you heard?" he demanded.

"Not what I've heard, what I've learned," she corrected humorously. It wasn't a funny situation, and she knew it, but felt a fierce surge of triumph at the ghost of a smile gracing his lips. "I was looking at the painting, and happened to mention to Cliona what a hideous piece of crap it was, and she reminded me that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. That got me to thinking, so I went back to the notes, and I think I found what we've been missing."

He waited patiently for her to continue, but she merely sat back in her chair and watched him, a smirk clear in her emerald green eyes. "Well?" he asked finally, giving in gracefully.

She snickered and absently licked her lips, wetting them against how chapped they were from the long day and night. "It all comes down to a question of beauty," she told him, watching the confusion cloud his face.

"I must be more injured than I thought," he chuckled ruefully. "I can't for the life of me begin to unravel what you just said."

"It's in her name," she explained, leaning forward excitedly. "Most of the time, when we think of Persephone in relation to the Greek goddess, it's in relation to her aspect as Queen of the Underworld. But Persephone was the goddess of spring. She returned to Earth, to her mother, bringing with her the end of winter, and the return of life, beauty, and spring. But we know she's a little skewed. I don't think it's just right and wrong, I think it's also a matter of beauty, because she thinks that's what she's bringing, only you keep destroying it. I don't think she understands, and she's surrounded by people with the same gap in understanding. The painter thinks he's creating great works of art, and maybe in his brain, he is. The toy maker thought his toys would bring happiness, because to him, they weren't works of horror, they were fun.

"Voldemort knew he was evil, Grindelwald knew he was evil. It was in their nature, but it was in their minds, as well. They made themselves that way out of choice. They wanted to kill, to destroy, to dominate. Persephone honestly believes she's helping, that she's improving things for everyone to enjoy. I think that's why we never see her, anymore; she thinks she's doing good but doesn't want to do it for the fame of it. We just can't see eye to eye on her sense of beauty. She's not evil, not really; she's sick."

The silence stretched out between them as he mulled it over in his brain, testing the theory against all possible gaps and previous experiences. His head was pounding, and he knew he'd have to think it over more later, but for the moment, it seemed like it just might be the answer they were looking for. "Why the dried roses?" he asked curiously.

"Because to her, they're a thing of beauty," she shrugged. "Live roses die, and dead roses are pretty much just disgusting. But a dried rose can last a really long time, and it retains a ghost of its scent for as long as it exists." She reached out to the nightstand and handed him the desiccated flower she'd brought with her from his office. It was almost weightless in his hand, the bloom withered and shrunken from the absence of moisture. Its petals curled in bitter peaks, faded and fragile, as likely to crumble at his touch as withstand it. "They are beautiful, in a way," she mused. "But what's frozen in time is neither living nor dead, and can therefore never be anything but half-existing. She wants to freeze the world between winter and spring, letting it never die, but she can't see that that's making it never live."

He stared at her, watching her eyes lose themselves on the path of the thought, and took the time to observe the dark purple smudges under her eyes, the smear of dried and crusted blood on her cheek. "How long have you been sitting here?" he asked her quietly.

She shrugged again, not meeting his gaze directly. "I was in your office for quite some time, and then came here," she evaded, scratching a flake of blood from the side of her finger.

"How long has it been?" he asked again, and this time, she purposefully misunderstood the question.

"They brought you back about four o'clock yesterday morning," she told him. "It's about three in the afternoon now. You were a long time sleeping."

"I'm sure Robin and her potions had a thing or two to say about that being the case," he retorted dryly, and she smiled. "Seriously, Kushiel, and I want a straight answer this time: how long have you been sitting here?"

Her smile grew lopsided, and her shoulders moved elegantly. "I really did spend most of yesterday in your office," she protested. "I wanted to make sure that I wasn't missing something more. I probably came in around midnight to see if Nurse Kayenta needed any assistance, because I know she's not letting Elena in until the last of you professor types are out."

"Kush-"

"How's the pain?" she interrupted. "And don't forget, you're still on the punishment clause; you have to give fact, not opinion."

"The pain's not too bad, due to the pain potion you slipped in my water, and you need to be taking care of yourself. Take a shower, get some rest, get some food."

"I will," she replied evenly.

"When?"

"When I'm damn good and ready for it," she shot back with a grin. "I'm fine, I'm not the one with forty-five percent of my body swathed in bandages."

"We can change that, if you'd like."

"The offer's very sweet, but mummy chic was so last season." She lifted the rose from his hand before he could accidentally damage it in his wincing laughter and set it gently back on the nightstand. "The question is, though, now that we understand partially what the problem is, how do we fix it? How do we convince someone that she's sick, if she doesn't want to believe us?"

"That is a question that will have to wait for another time," a voice said from behind her. She craned her head back guiltily to regard Nurse Kayenta. "Kushiel, I sent you out of the infirmary six hours ago."

"I forgot my book," she said sheepishly, pointing to it. "And then I sat down because I was tired and thought that I would read until I got a little of my energy back, and then I fell asleep. I promise I was sleeping," she added quickly, seeing the stern look on the woman's face start to grow thunderous.

"That's true, Robin," Clark assisted. "I'm afraid I woke her up when I awoke."

"Still, that's no excuse," she fussed. "I told you very specifically I wanted you cleaned, fed, and rested before I would allow you back in here."

"Which I technically haven't disobeyed," she pointed out lightly. "One has to fully leave before one can return."

"Madamoiselle de Navarre, out this instant!" she ordered. "I will let you back in after dinner if you are not sleeping, though I hope for your sake that you are. But for the moment, out of my infirmary."

"Yes, ma'am," she answered, throwing a mock salute. She grinned unrepentantly at both staff members and carefully unwound herself from the chair, joints popping loudly and painfully. She ignored the discomfort and walked slowly out of the hospital wing, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

Robin gazed after her fondly, then turned her attention to the wounded Headmaster. "She's barely left your side, you know. You're very lucky."

"Lucky?" he echoed, trying not to resist as she started peeking under bandages to check the progress of the healing.

"Your magic dropped precipitously late night," she explained, running her wand over his torso. "You started having seizures, and she came and grabbed me."

"She told me she came back in around midnight," he grumbled, obediently sitting up so she could check his back."

"She lied," she said simply. "It's true, she did race off at one point, but she returned a few hours later, and didn't leave after that."

"How are the others?" he asked finally, his gut clenching in fear of the answer. He hadn't wanted to ask that of Kushiel, in case the news had been bad. He didn't want her to have to relay that. Robin, though, was a trained healer and a member of his staff, as well as an old friend. It was her job to bear the worst of news.

"They're just fine," she told him, voice tripping over a good-natured laugh. He blinked and she shook her head. "You were the worst injured. The rest of them awoke through the morning. They're sleeping again now, but they'll be out of here faster than you will."

"What about Sachiko and Tyler?"

"They were disoriented for a bit," she reported honestly. "However, it seemed to fade significantly when Kushiel took away the paintings they were holding. They were still a little fuzzy this morning, but that's nothing rest can't cure. Now, back to sleep with you, Clark, unless you'd like something for the pain. You need your rest as well."

He couldn't exactly argue with her on that; it would have been difficult to articulate around the yawn. She helped lie back down and tucked the blanket up around his shoulder, positioning another pillow at an angle to keep the worst of the sunlight off his face.

"If you wake up and need anything, just hit the bell on your nightstand," she told him, pointing to the object in question. "It will connect with whoever's on duty."

He fell asleep thinking of the dried rose, still with its faded scent, but he could have sworn he could smell an undertone of vanilla to it, as well. His mind questioned it briefly, then simply accepted it, letting it wrap around him into soothing slumber.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He woke up to someone poking him with a stick.

To be fair, it was a wand, not a stick, and they were gently prodding the skin at the edge of his wounds to test the firmness of the swelling, not poking him willy nilly, but it wasn't the most pleasurable sensation to wake up to. He grunted and rolled over, nearly on top of the wand, and a light baritone laugh washed over him.

"She was right," a male voice muttered humorously, lilting in the British accent he was still somewhat getting used to. "You do make a lousy patient."

"And hello to you, too, Mister Sleipak," he greeted, opening his eyes.

Callum tugged his wand out from beneath the injured man and checked it absently for cracks. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a trainwreck, and you?" he asked dryly, and the healer chuckled.

"I can't discharge you, so it's no use buttering up to me," he told the Headmaster, jotting down a note on the chart in his lap. Lanterns glowed warmly along the walls, a candle flickering at his bedside. He wondered how long he'd slept this time, but was somewhat relieved to see that a certain redheaded student wasn't to be found. "She's sleeping," Callum added, following his gaze to the rose on the table. "Cliona threatened, I'm told, and is camping out on the foot of her bed to force Dreamless Sleep down her throat if she tries to resist."

"Who?" he asked innocently, and Callum smirked.

"Right. Nurse Kayenta told me you'd ask about Kush at one point or another before you fell asleep again, and that's what she told me to tell you. Our good nurse went down to check on her about an hour ago and she was sound asleep. I won't add what else she said."

"Oh, but now you've whetted my curiosity," Clark protested, his dark brown eyes sparkling merrily.

"Kush is going to kill me," Callum groaned.

"Only if she finds out."

"Nurse Kayenta said she was 'sound asleep with almost a stranglehold on that absurdly neon orange frog of hers'."

"Neon orange frog?" Clark repeated, highly confused. "That's a new one."

"That's what she said," Callum shrugged, sliding his quill back behind his ear. "A couple of owls came through for you, but she says you can't have them until she's released you back to your office."

Stifling another groan, Clark settled for huffing out his breath. "I'm the Headmaster, and yet I have really no choice but to obey."

"Oh, no, sir, you always have a choice," the apprentice healer contradicted merrily. "It's just that the alternatives, and the consequences, aren't really all that pleasant."

"Full moon's in a few days, isn't it?" Clark asked abruptly, and Callum slowly nodded, not entirely sure what had brought that up.

"Yes, sir. It begins in two." He gestured over to the steaming flask of Wolfsbane on his desk. "Disgusting hot potion, my favorite midnight snack."

"I want this clear that it's against my better judgment," he began, almost enjoying watching the confusion grow across the younger man's face, "but I'm going to lift the restraining orders for the duration of the full moon. Perhaps you and Cliona can purport yourselves more appropriately as wolves than as humans, and I know how important pack is. I'd rather not have pissed off werewolves running around in the midst of all this upheaval."

"Seriously, sir?"

Clark nodded solemnly. "Like I said, it's against my better judgment, but we'll see if it works. If anything is amiss, it's right back in place, am I understood?"

"Yes, sir, clearly," Callum answered seriously.

"Good." The two sat in bemused silence for a time. "I don't suppose Robin left a list with what she would allow me to eat," he said after a time.

"You mean besides soup and soft bread?"

"Exactly."

"Nothing."

Sighing, Clark shook his head. "I should have known better than to even ask."

"Would you like some soup and bread, sir?"

"Not really, but I suppose I should."

Laughing, Callum got up to floo-call the kitchens. Hunger was always a good sign to a healer; it meant the body wanted energy to heal itself. It made his job so much easier. He made a mental note to pass the message about the full moon to Cliona later; he'd obey the spirit of the punishment, as much as he hated it, and not see her until then, but at least she might be looking forward to it, as well.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first night of the full moon passed easily, Cliona and Callum keeping their joy within reasonable restraints. Ginny laughed at them through the entire hunt, but they behaved more or less, and she didn't particularly feel the need to say anything about the brand spanking new hickey she found on Callum's neck immediately before they all transformed.

So it was that Ginny really didn't think anything of letting the pair go off on their own the second night. After several nights of traverses with the Lupin family, Emme had learned a great deal, but puppy love was a wonderful thing, and she saw no reason to stifle it with company. Then again, perhaps she was simply sympathetic to it; she couldn't help but remember the year after her graduation, and all the trials that had gone into it.

There was, however, one small thing that none of them had thought of: fatigue. Callum had spent several days working nearly non-stop in the hospital wing, and Cliona had been awake to make sure her best friend slept, and they were both on the edge of exhaustion. The night wasn't half over when they found it difficult to not curl up in balls in the loam and just sleep.

Callum nipped Cliona lightly on the neck and trotted off, waiting for her to follow. He led the way back up to the school, batting at the rock he'd slid in the door to keep it open, and slipped inside. The two wolves padded silently through the halls to the young man's chambers, where his scratch was enough to bring the door open. He reared back and leaped onto the bed, joined a moment later. Curling around her, he tenderly licked the side of her muzzle and nestled against her neck, the both of them quickly falling asleep.

When Callum woke up, he was slightly disoriented. Fully human, he was on his bed, with something very warm against him, but he could feel the comforter beneath him. It wasn't terribly uncommon for him to sleep through a change back when he was tired, but to not even remember that it had happened? Sighing, he shook his head wearily and shifted against the warmth.

And the warmth shifted back with a sleepy murmur.

Stopping dead, Callum opened wide eyes and looked down. Nestled against his naked body was an equally naked Cliona, fast asleep, her hair in messy waves all around her face. His first thought, strangely enough, was on the strangeness of neither of them waking, all entwined as they were. His next, close on the heels of the first, was that it probably wasn't possible to have sex when you were that tired, so they couldn't have done anything inappropriate. Then came the third thought, completely obliterating the two before it and consuming his entire mind: her father and the Headmaster.

He eased out of her grasp and slid off the bed, pacing quietly as he tried to calm his mind and come up with any possible solution. The best solution would probably have been to wake her up, loan her some clothing to get her back to her dorm, and leave it at that. The problem was, though, he rather liked having her in his arms. His mind was also fuzzy as all hell from the transformation and fatigue, and really not capable of thinking all that clearly.

Almost absently, he lifted his wand off his nightstand and performed the cleaning spell that got rid of the nasty taste that always lingered in his mouth after a hunt. It probably wouldn't be best to leave them entirely unclad, he mused. Unfortunately, he had all of one set of pajamas. Sighing, he pulled them from their hiding spot, where they'd been stashed since June, and pulled on the bottoms, deciding that a male's chest was much more acceptable to show than a female's. Very carefully, trying not to wake her, he slid the top up her arms and buttoned it up her front, his knuckles lightly grazing her skin. She murmured something about riding a mouse and subsided, her fingers curled around his hand.

Callum smiled and eased back onto the bed, pulling an extra blanket over them. His arms slid back around her, holding her close, and he drifted off back to sleep with a small smile on his face.

The sun was up and streaming into the room before Cliona awoke at all, blinking against the glare on her eyelids. She rubbed at the sleepies crusting her eyelashes, wondering slightly at the thin flannel rubbing against her cheek. She focused on the material and nearly shrieked in surprise at the pair of bunnies doing largely unspeakable things an inch and a half from her face. She felt a great deal more warmth at her back than she could readily explain, even if she'd somehow managed to mound up the blankets again, but that wouldn't tell her how she came to be wearing Callum's pajamas.

His pajama top, anyway, she amended, taking further stock in her situation. She slipped out of his embrace, no easy thing to do, and used his wand to conjure a toothbrush, stealing some of his toothpaste from the bathroom. It was a tradition, a ritual, getting the foul taste from her mouth after the full moon. She couldn't understand how she'd slept at all with it still lingering. Pacing about the room as she brushed, she tired to clear her thoughts into some semblance of order. Her loudmouth brothers weren't here, nor was Aidan, and her father was safely back in the den, most likely sleeping by now and several states away. They were just sleeping, not taking each other up against a wall, so she couldn't get in trouble, right?

Sighing, Cliona paced back into the bathroom to spit and rinse, leaving the toothbrush on the side of the sink and crawling back into the bed and Callum's arms. She was tired, he was warm, and she'd figure it out later, she decided, surrendering to sleep.

As she always did after a transformation, Ginny woke up briefly and slid into a dressing gown to check on her children. Lorcan and Tommo were curled up on the same bed, Tommo still chasing rabbits in his sleep, and Morri was sprawled across her bed in an ungainly heap. Remus, she knew, was sleeping, now anyway, and that left only Callum to check on. The redhead threw a handful of floo powder into the fire, whispering the password, and stepped gracefully into the young man's rooms.

Her nostrils flared among entry, not failing to notice the additional scent. Her lips twitching in a smile, she padded to the bedroom door and put her ear to it. Hearing only Callum's soft snore, she gently pushed it open and checked in. Spooning under the warmth of a blanket, the pair were sleeping soundly. Purely for the sake of propriety, she lifted the bare edge of a blanket and saw the pajama pants covering Callum's legs, and she could see Cliona's arm in the sleeve over the blanket. She wasn't sure if being dressed in those particular pajamas counted as decent, but it was close enough for her mind.

Closing the door behind her, Ginny returned to her own chambers and her own bed, sinking into the warm softness of mattress and husband.

"You left," Remus murmured in her ear, snaking his arms around her.

"I was checking on the cubs," she retorted, "as I always do."

"And are the cubs well?" he asked, nuzzling against her ear.

"Yes," she grinned, biting her lip as his teeth sank into the tender lobe.

"Good. Then they won't be needing us for a bit."

The formidable Mrs. Lupin, however, was not the only one that liked to check the state of the state. Taking advantage of the single moment the infirmary had been devoid of healers, Clark Dowling had very carefully transfigured some bed sheets into clothing and escaped. They had served to get him back to his own chambers, where he charmed his bandages to stay dry and stood underneath a pounding hot shower until he was feeling vaguely aware again. Dressing in his own clothing, he decided to check on Avistrum's own pack before ensconcing himself in his office with a meal that would make Robin cry when she found out.

He passed the Lupins' rooms first, quietly inquiring of the waltzing couple in the portrait if they had all come in safely. Speaking to the giggling nun in front of Callum's door, he received affirmation and continued on his way to the Lobostro dorms to check on Emme, then to Enigmus. Englebert, however, told him that he hadn't seen her come in, and that was worrisome. Then something clicked.

The nun wasn't usually giggling.

It was a young nun, probably not long out of her novitiate when she'd been immortalized into statuary, but she wasn't normally giggling. He shook his head and headed straight back to Callum's door. The nun looked up at him, clearly amused, one marble hand over her mouth to try and hold some of the laughter in. "Is she in there?" he asked wearily.

"She who?" the little nun returned cheekily, and he frowned.

"Open the door, please."

Her giggles increasing, she stroked a stone finger along the wood and it swung open at her touch.

He nodded to her in acknowledgement and stepped in, heading straight to the bedroom. His heart sank, praying to anything he thought might be listening that Mister McCullough wouldn't have any reason to come up to the school this morning, and loudly cleared his throat. Neither showed any sign of waking. Sighing, he yanked the blanket off of them, wishing a moment later that he really hadn't, as it showed each of them only half dressed. It served its purpose, however, and they sat up in confusion.

"Good morning," he told them dryly, amused despite himself as he watched their eyes widen.

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_Thadunk. Squeak! Pad pad pad, plop._

_Thadunk. Squeak! Pad pad pad plop._

_Thadunk. Squeak! Pad pad pad plop._

_Thadunk. Squeak!-_

Clark looked up from his paperwork, his dark brown eyes dancing humorously. "You two have got a really good rhythm, you know?"

Two pairs of eyes turned to look at him, and Cliona's ears laid back against her skull before she turned her tail on him and padded across the room to drop the tennis ball in Kushiel's lap. Without even looking away from her notes, Kush threw it against the opposite wall and Cliona raced to catch it before it could hit the floor.

"Expanding the menagerie again, Clark?" Lysander demanded sourly.

"Actually, we're attempting to not let that happen, which would be why she's here," he answered lightly, and the wolf whined deep in her throat.

"They have these things called silver bullets which are wonderful towards helping with that. Ow!"

Kushiel looked up from her pages as the ball hit the floor beneath the vampire's plaque. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Lysander, the ball must have slipped from my hand before it was ready. You will forgive me, won't you?" she added, smiling insincerely.

Cliona sat back on her haunches, tongue lolling out in a lupine laugh. Going over to the ball, she nudged it with her nose, then gripped it in each strong jaws, bringing it over to her human friend.

_Thadunk. Squeak! Pad pad pad, plop._

"So how furious was Nurse Kayenta when she discovered you'd escaped?" She asked the Headmaster with a slight smile.

"Oh, I hear she was ready to drag me back there by my hair," he chuckled.

_Thadunk. Squeak! Pad pad pad plop._

"Well, I don't see any bald patches, so you must have dissuaded her somehow."

"I'm mostly healed," he protested. She quirked a brow at the visible bandages around his hand and forehead and he grinned. "I said mostly."

_Thadunk. Squeak! Pad pad pad plop._

"Those were quite interesting pajamas, by the way," he mentioned, and she snickered into her hand.

"You know what her pajamas look like? Ooh, wait'll I tell the Board of Governors!"

_Thunk!_ "Ow!" _Pad pad pad plop._

"Yes, we made them for his birthday back in June," she told the Headmaster, absently scratching behind Cliona's ear as she picked the ball from her lap again. "Ginny gave us the idea for them."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," he murmured dryly, and she laughed.

_Thadunk. Squeak! Pad pad pad plop._

"That was also quite an interesting mark on his neck."

"Oh, sure, I bite someone on the neck and I got my head chopped off, the wolf bites someone on the neck and gets to play all night."

_Thunk!_ "Ow!"_ Pad pad pad plop._

"I have no idea what you're talking about, sir," she replied mildly, and her friend barked in agreement.

"Of course you don't."

"What?" she protested. "I really don't! The last time I saw Callum, his neck was mark free!"

_Thadunk. Squeak! Pad pad pad plop._

"Let's just hope none of her family members decide to drop by," she continued, grinning at the face he made. "Or even worse, Aidan."

"I really don't understand that whole situation," he confessed, sipping at his coffee.

_Thadunk. Squeak! Pad pad pad plop._

"What part of no doesn't he understand?"

"The part that means not him," she suggested, shifting in her chair. "Or maybe it's just because he's a boy, and boys don't pick up on things like that too well."

_Thadunk Squeak! Pad pad pad plop._

"Should I take offense at that?" he inquired lazily. "I'm a boy."

"An eternally little one," Lysander grumbled, "playing with your toys."

_Thunk!_ "Ow!" _Pad pad pad plop._

"No, you were a boy," she corrected lightly. "I would certainly hope they wouldn't put a boy in charge of our health and safety, I would be a little worried."

"You should be worried, he's a happy little nutso swinging a really old sword."

_Thunk!_ "Ow!" _Pad pad pad plop._

"You forgot sharp, Lysander. I don't imagine you could have forgotten that part of it."

"Nicely done, Kush."

"Thank you."

_Thadunk. Squeak! Pad pad pad plop._

Eventually, the sounds ceased, and Clark looked up from his papers to see Cliona curled up on top of Kushiel's feet. "Isn't that a little uncomfortable?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I forgot my socks," she shrugged.

He stared at her for a moment before the meaning filtered through, and he set down his coffee, was laughing so hard.

"It wasn't that funny," she murmured bemusedly.

"Simple minds are easily amused."

_Thunk!_ "Ow!" "Accio ball."

Clark smirked as he watched the neon green tennis ball fly back into Kush's hands. "Well done."

"I can but try."

"And succeed admirably."

"Oh, the sentimentality of the room is just cloying."

_Thunk!_ "Ow!" "Accio ball."

"Will you stop doing that!" Lysander screeched.

"No." His eyes bulged in his head at her calm response. "What are you going to do, duck?"

"Silencio."

Both humans watched in amusement as the head's mouth moved furiously, no sound escaping. After a moment of the simple entertainment, Clark turned his attention back to his student. "So tell me more about what you've found," he instructed.

Taking a second to gather several sheets together, she slid her feet out from the warmth of Cliona's fur and came closer to Clark's desk. He pulled one of the chairs around the block piece of furniture so she could sit next to him, and she sank into it, curling her feet up underneath her. "Thank you. Next time, do it with your wand so I don't get yelled at by Nurse Kayenta for letting you do too much."

He shook his head with a smile and sat back down.

"It's so obvious now that I know to look for it," she started ruefully. "Every approach she's had is just like the aesthetic philanthropists society admires. She sees something she thinks is beautiful and she sponsors it, wanting to spread it to the rest of the world, to share what she sees as a gift. The people she sponsors are the ones you deal with on a regular basis through the Dark Hunters. She's going to be damn hard to find if you ever look directly for her because she doesn't want to be in the spotlight. She's going to keep herself from that."

"How do you figure?"

She sat back in her chair, the ghost of a smile floating about her lips. "Back in the village, there's this little old woman who lives all on her own. She spends her days making beautiful tattings and laces, and every Christmas, they show up wrapped in little packages on everyone's doorsteps, but if you ask her about them, she'll deny knowing anything about it. It's her little piece of beauty that she gives to all of us, but she wants us to focus on the beauty itself rather than the person bringing it about. It's what she wants. Persephone seems much the same way."

"You've really been thinking a lot about this, haven't you?" he asked, regarding her oddly.

She shrugged and shuffled a few pages. "Haven't had much else to do the past few days," she twitted him. Frowning down at a page, she made to bury it under the pile, but he stopped her by taking her wrist.

"What is that?"

"It's just a sketch," she answered dismissively, trying again to bury it.

He took is from her and perused it thoughtfully, tracing a finger gently over the lines. On the top half of the page, a fresh rose was caught at the peak of its beauty, dew glistening through the ink as if it were about to roll off the velvet of each petal. Fully in bloom, it had soft leaves cushioning it against the desk it laid on. Opposite it, the space claimed the familiar dried rose, its fragile endlessness caught in painstaking detail. It was easier, in a way, to see the beauty of it on paper, where the smudges and shadows gave it memory, rather than time. "This is quite good, Kush," he murmured, very impressed.

"I zoned out one day while taking notes," she chuckled, attempting to get the page back from him. "I've had it on my mind recently. Will you please give me that back!"

"No," he answered mildly, and she scowled. "Why do you want this back so badly?" he continued curiously.

"I don't like people seeing my sketches," she told him. "Can I please have it back?"

"No. Why don't you like people seeing your sketches?"

"Because I don't!" She cried, blushing hotly. "Seriously, sir, can I please have it back!"

Wordlessly, he handed it to her and she slid from the chair, walking quickly over to her desk and sliding the paper into one of the folders in her backpack. Surprisingly, she stayed over there, kneeling down to scratch the sleeping Cliona gently behind the ears. "Kush, what's wrong?" he asked finally, his voice soft.

She shrugged and kept on scratching, until one hind leg was thudding against the floor in unconscious bliss.

Sighing, Clark stood and strode across his office, sitting down on the floor next to her. He reached out a hand and gently took her by the chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "If I did something wrong, I apologize, but I need to know what it was so that I don't repeat it," he told her quietly.

Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth, and she finally looked him in the eye, her green eyes hard. "Da sketches," she said lowly. "I really don't like to think of myself being like my Da."

"Why not?"

"Da's a flake," she shrugged. "He always has been, and if he isn't dead, always will be. I'd prefer to be better than that."

"That in no way means you can't embrace the fact that you sketch wonderfully," he refuted. "It's a talent, a skill; those are your own, whether they're inherited or not."

"Still."

"Kushiel de Navarre, it is an incredible gift," he insisted sternly. "Do not sell it or yourself short."

"Yes, sir," she murmured, averting her eyes, and he mentally groaned. Nothing was easy anymore.

A loud howl suddenly split the night, echoing queerly through the closed window. Whimpering, Cliona jumped to her feet, shaking her head fiercely, and looked around. She pushed her way between the two humans and nosed through the office, the whining growing in pitch and volume, until she scratched frantically at the door.

"Cliona, he's not here," Kushiel soothed from where she was. When the scratching only increased, she ran over to the door and hugged the werewolf around the neck, receiving several claw marks for her trouble. She held on tighter, her voice right in the wolf's ear. "He's not here, Cli, he's not hiding. He's just not here. It's okay, sweetie, really, it is. He's just not here."

Cliona stopped struggling, gazing at her friend with mournful eyes, and licked her cheek in apology, curling up in her lap with a heavy sigh.

"What was that about?" Clark inquired, taking her arm to perform a simple healing spell on the new decorations.

"She was looking for Callum," she explained sadly, her fingers smoothing the fur in her friend's snout. "The wolf thinks of him as 'mate'; it's unnatural not to be with your mate for the full moon."

"They met each other back in June and they're thinking mate already?" he asked incredulously.

Her lips twitching into a wry grin, Kushiel shook her head. "As humans, no, they think of it as a crush. Wolves don't bother with human emotions, though; they know their mates. During the full moon, there's no place other than with each other that they want to be."

"Obviously," he agreed dryly, thinking back on the scene from the morning. "I don't think I should like to be a werewolf," he continued lightly.

"Human emotions are confusing enough," she added. "I'll stick to wading through those."

Clark closed the distance between them, mischief in his eyes, and sat next to her. "What about you, Kush? When are we going to see you falling all over yourself over some boy?"

"You're not," she retorted, a faint flush starting high in her cheeks but hiding itself well. "I'm giving my hormones a break."

"Can you do that?" he mused impishly, and she snickered.

"I'm focusing on the entertainment value of other people's lives," she answered loftily. "If I were to engage in it myself, my sense of perspective would be completely shot to hell."

"Perspective?" he echoed. "Careful, there, Kitten, or you'll forget to live."

"Kitten?" she repeated, one brow arching upwards.

Blushing slightly, Clark ducked his head, abruptly feeling like he was fifteen again. "Sorry, I shouldn't-"

"It's fine," she laughed, cutting him off with a shake of her red curls. "I was just wondering where it came from."

"Well, you have to admit, you have some definitely cat-like tendencies," he returned, feeling the somewhat perverse need to defend himself. "And Bast really does treat you like an unruly kitten sometimes. Do you remember one time when you fell asleep over the research? She came and got me out of a staff meeting so that I could wake you up and tell you to go to bed."

"Maybe she just wanted my chair," she suggested wickedly.

He laughed with her, but shook his head. "She likes you," he said blandly.

"She's a cat and she's a goddess; she has excellent taste."

"And what about you? What's your taste?"

"In what?" she sidestepped neatly.

"In guys."

Okay, maybe not so neatly. She and Cliona hadn't really gotten a chance to sit down and have a good heart to heart yet about it, and she sure as hell wasn't going to tell anything to him, but she hadn't expected it to ever come up, and hadn't prepared anything to say. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, carefully separating out what was safe and not safe to say. "It kind of depends on what I want at the time," she started finally, her thoughts drawing the words out. "Sometimes, I just want to play, you know? Just pass the time with someone who has the exact same expectation. So my pretty much only concerns are cute and non-diseased. Just about anything else is negotiable." She ignored the slightly choked sound he made and continued. "And then there are times when I want someone to be with, someone I can call a boyfriend in most useful definitions of the term. For that, I generally look for someone fairly attractive, but it's not a necessity, and someone I keep conversation with. Someone sweet enough to not mind that I flirt as I breathe, someone who's just kind of there."

She trailed off, and he thought she might not continue, twirling Cliona's coarse brown fur about her fingers. "I'm sure I'll eventually want to look for a mate," she continued ever so carefully, "someone to actually settle down and spend the rest of my life with, but that demands so much more."

"Like what?" he asked quietly.

"Intelligence, for one," she answered with a brief grin. "I couldn't spend much time around an idiot. And he'd having to be an interesting person, not just facts. Part of me is shallow enough to still want handsome, because that makes it just that much more fun. Fun, too, that would have to be a big part of it. Laid back but disciplined, wanting to go somewhere but content to stay in one place, sweet enough for me to love with but sharp enough for me to live with…and probably older," she added, just to see the reaction on his face. "Guys my age or younger have just never done it for me."

It took him a moment to be able to reply; he was still making the slightly strangled fish noises. She waited patiently, kindly pretending not to notice. "You don't want much, do you?"

"I want more than that," she shrugged. "As to whether or not I'll ever get it, I doubt it."

"Why is that?"

"And what about you?" she asked, cocking a brow at him to let him know his question wasn't going to be answered. "How do your tastes run?"

He was blushing, which tested all of her resolve not to crack up laughing, but she gave him the time to think that he had given her. "Someone who keeps me on my toes," he answered finally. "Someone who makes me laugh, and makes me think, who makes me ache when she's not there. Someone who can keep up with me in a conversation, and even outstep me in some things. Someone who could survive amidst my hobbies, obviously," he continued ruefully, gesturing to an office full of souvenirs and fascinations. "I think what I want most of all, though, is someone that I simply want to be with, without even realizing it. To look up when they walk into a room and just know without knowing it that you're complete now."

Cliona whined and licked Kushiel's hand, drawing the girl's attention to her. Clark knew, he just knew, that there were things being said in the look they were sharing, but he couldn't begin to comprehend what they could be.

"I know, Cli, I know," she whispered.

"Know what?"

But she simply shook her head and didn't answer.

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"This sucks."

"You're right, it does."

"This totally sucks." Cliona moaned, slowly banging her head against the table.

Kushiel looked over her plate of teriyaki chicken and smiled slightly. "It's not quite as bad as all that, sweetie."

"Explain to me how this is not as bad as all that."

"We're having the Last Huzzah tonight so you wouldn't have been able to see Callum anyway," she answered matter-of-factly, and her friend blinked rapidly.

"Okay, so that makes it suck less tonight."

"Cate and Siri will be there, since Cate's bringing the kids by early," she wheedled. "And Ginny and Morrigan will be there, too."

Cliona frowned, gnawing on a roll. "So bringing children to the Last Huzzah makes everything better?"

Laughing, Kushiel reached out and swatted her friend upside the back of her head. "Siri and Morri will probably fall asleep fairly quickly, and then, once we put them to bed, it's back to the common room for a rousing game of truth or truth!"

"Are we finally giving up on truth or dare then?"

"After six straight years, the dares are starting to get a little repetitive, yeh?"

"Speaking of truth or truth, you and I need to have a little talk," Cliona told her sternly, and the redhead sighed.

"When and where?"

"Now, and out by the fountain."

Both girls got up, making their excuses to the others, and strolled outside, two pairs of eyes following them from the High Table.

When they got outside, Cliona scouted around to make sure no one was nearby, then sat down on the ground with her back against the cold stone. "So spill."

"Spill what?" Kushiel asked innocently, pulling her knees up to her chest.

She got a look. "You and the Headmaster; what is going on?"

"Nothing is going on," she sighed. "And I'm not just saying that. There's nothing happening."

"That's not entirely true," she pointed out. "I spent an entire night with the two of you, remember? He sits awfully close to you, and he touches you pretty frequently, little touches, things like that."

"Cliona-"

"And his breath catches every time you smile," the werewolf went on as if the other girl hadn't spoken. "Come on, Kush, you were talking about crushes!"

"We were talking about you and Callum," she retorted, sticking out her tongue.

"And then your tastes in guys, and then his taste in girls. Come on, sweetie, that is not a normal topic of conversation between a professor and his student."

"We've gotten comfortable around each other," she shrugged. "I've been doing a lot of extra work with him this summer-"

"Which you still haven't told me about, by the way."

"-which I still haven't told you about because I'm not allowed to," she pressed on, ignoring the interruption. "Even if he ever were to pursue a relationship with a student, which he won't, it won't be with me. You heard the conversation, Cli! We were talking about crushes! That's the type of conversation you have with a best friend, not someone you're interested in."

"Then why were you having it with him?"

"Because he's not interested in me." Cliona sat back and smirked, waiting patiently until her friend grew antsy enough to break the silence. "What?"

"You don't see the way he looks at you," she said seriously, holding up her hand to forestall protests. "He watches you, when you're not looking at him, like he can't quite figure you out but that's okay. He honestly listens to what you say, and it's not the 'I'm genuinely listening because you're my student and I owe you that respect as your teacher', but in the 'I want to know what you have to say because it's interesting, witty, and intelligent, and it makes me happy to hear your voice' kind of way."

Kushiel rolled her eyes, laughing. "Oh, sweet Nim, Cliona, that is just laying it on too thick. He does nothing of the sort, and you know it."

Chuckling ruefully, Cliona shook her head, brown waves flying around her face. "Okay, so maybe not to that extent, but he really does look at you like that. He watched you leave tonight."

"I'm a hormonal teenager with crazy friends, of course he can't figure me out. And he was probably just watching to make sure Callum didn't try to follow you."

Reaching out, she took her friend's hand, meeting her eyes. "No jokes, now, Kush. How serious is this whole liking him thing?"

Flushing, the Irish girl ducked her head against the other girl's shoulder. "I really like him," she mumbled into the ever present hoodie. "And I know I shouldn't, but Nimue help me, Cli, I really do."

"Why?"

"He's intelligent, and funny, and sweet, and little boyish in the charming kind of way not the annoying way, and he's brave, and he's really cute…I don't know exactly why, I just know that I look at him or think of him and my heart starts beating a little faster."

"I understand," Cliona agreed wearily.

"We are two very messed up individuals, you know that, sweeting?"

"Indeed."

The pair sat against the fountain, holding hands as good friends can do, just watching the stars come out in comfortable silence.

"Truth or truth is going to be absolutely mortifying tonight, you know that, right?"

Kushiel just started laughing.

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Cate tucked the blanket a little closer over the two sleeping children, running a hand fondly over her daughter's strawberry blonde hair. An Avistrum alumnae, she made it her tradition each year to personally escort her children back to campus. It wasn't that she had any doubt about the school bus' ability to safely transport her children, it was just that it gave her an excuse each year to wander around the halls of the school and go through memories. It also gave her a chance to catch up with the girls.

She was a mother three times over, two of her children attending Avistrum and the third not too far behind, but Catherine Cassiopeia Black Christiansen was a young spirit through and through, and she was very fond of the current batch of mischief makers. And quite proud, too. She had heard all about the pajamas in one of Kush's letters and nearly hurt herself laughing.

Cate was very interested to meet the boy who had so completely turned Cliona's head. According to her young penpal, they had quite the chemistry together. Actually, the phrase had been "It's like an instant hickey; just add drool", but she still had a hard time not laughing at that one. She had been told very briefly by Carriegan upon entry to the school that Cliona and Callum were currently not allowed to see each other, and she was very interested in that story, as well. Cate simply liked to know what was going on, and she invariably did.

Leaving Siri and Morrigan asleep on Carriegan's large bed in the dorm, she gently closed the door and headed down to the eminently comfortable common room, seating herself in the only slightly battered leather divan that had been her reigning throne for the duration of her stay at the academy. Looking around the room, she smiled. It was an interesting group, she decided, much more varied than when she'd been in school. Sabina had returned early, after staying the one week earlier in the summer, so she together with Carriegan and Kushiel represented Colubrae House. Aurelia, silly as ever, clashed with the décor in her red and gold, with Cliona in Enigmus and Elena in Lobostro. There were others, as well, simply not yet arrived, such as Elowen, also in Lobostro, and Raven in Enigmus. It was quite the eclectic group, though there was no doubt in anyone's mind that Kushiel, Cliona, Carriegan, and Aurelia formed the core of it. Ginny Lupin was also there, just as mischievous as any of the younger girls, and Cate felt a definite kinship with the woman, all questions of motherhood aside. The night promised to be most entertaining.

"So," she began casually, sipping at her pink cosmo. "Cliona. Truth or truth?"

"Gee, I wonder if I'm taking truth," Cliona grinned, rolling her eyes.

"So why is it exactly that you and your beau aren't allowed to see each other again?"

Cliona blushed scarlet and buried her face in her knees amidst general laughter. "Please, kill me now," she groaned.

"Maybe after you've answered the question," Cate granted magnanimously.

Sighing, the Enigmus girl ran a hand through her hair. "Aidan was being an absolute ass, and caught Callum and I making out in the barn, as did Cúan. Cúan made an offhand comment about me making out in the hay to Conri, who repeated it to Mam. Da overheard but misunderstood and came charging into the school bellowing about how I'd disgraced us all by having sex in the barn, and because the Headmaster obviously had to do something, I'm not allowed to see Callum until further notice."

"Has he said when further notice is?"

"That's a second question, Cate," Kushiel chided lightly. "Your turn to ask someone, Cli."

"Ginny, truth or truth."

"I'll take truth, please," the British woman answered with a straight face.

"Is it true that you seduced Remus?"

Giggling, Ginny shook her head. "Yes and no," she answered calmly. "I certainly tried my best, but he had that damned noble streak in him, and it took a very long time to grind it down. Even nearly getting accidentally killed by him didn't really do it. But finally, I got him where I wanted him."

"And how you wanted him," Carriegan quipped, setting off another round of laughter.

"Let's see, how about you, Kushiel. Truth, obviously."

"Obviously," the fellow redhead agreed, lounging with her head in Aurelia's lap.

"Are you really not attracted to Callum at all?" she queried.

All eyes turned to Kushiel, and she grinned. "I am interested in having him as a friend, but honestly no more than that," she replied.

"Why not?"

"That's a second question, Ginny. Honestly, it can't have been that long since you old people played the game, you should still know the rules."

Ginny shrugged. "I'm used to playing just with Hermione; we tend to let little things like that slide."

"Sabina, how many tall, dark, and handsome Europeans did you meet this summer?"

The elegant girl glanced up from filing her nails, a wicked gleam in her dark brown eyes. "Oh, I **met** quite a few," she answered lightly, "but you'll have to save details for other questions, because that was one."

"Sounds fair," Kushiel agreed mildly, and everyone else groaned. Sabina and Kushiel were infamous for being able to avoid answering the spirit of sticky questions by responding to it literally.

Sabina gazed around the room, looking for a suitable victim upon which to unsheathe the claws. "Elena," she almost purred. "Tell me, exactly how much love **did** you put into the tailoring of Mister Sleipak's pajamas?"

Blushing a painful red, Elena took a deep breath. "I admit," she said softly, "I did have a crush on him at one point, but after working with him in the infirmary, I've come to decide that he's much too devoted to Cliona, even if he hasn't realized that yet."

"Good answer!" Cliona crowed, and the tension was broken by more laughter. It was an odd sort of testament to the friendship of these girls that they could play a game like truth or truth and not hate each other in the morning. It truly was a no holds barred game, and questions could get quite nasty and vicious long before the game was over.

"Carriegan," Elena began, her blue eyes wide. "Is it true that your family wants to make an arranged marriage for you once you've graduated?"

"They want to try," the metamorphmagus growled fiercely, her eyes flashing a violent black. "They will not, however, succeed."

Several of the other girls exchanged looks and rolled their eyes. Threats of arrangements were simply part of a pureblood's life; rather than fuss about it, it was much smarter to figure out ways to simply avoid them.

"Aurelia," Carriegan chose, making the circle complete. "Just how many boys **did** you make out with the last time we went to Howl?"

"Oh, who knows," Aurelia giggled. "Five, maybe? Six?"

"Aurelia, you little strumpet, you," Cate laughed, and the blonde girl smiled sweetly.

"Cate, your turn."

"Oh, here we go."

"Why would you ever want to get married and be stuck with one person when you could have been playing with any number of boys that you wanted?"

Cate shrieked with laughter, smoothing back her strawberry blonde hair when she was calmer. "Oh, sweetie, you are too much. I love Erik! I don't want to play with anyone else."

Aurelia stared at her, blue eyes wide and blinking. "I don't get it."

Cate snorted and sipped again at her cosmo. "Apparently. So, Kush, darling, what boy is turning your head at the moment?"

"None," she answered, ignoring the curious look Cliona gave her. "I am boy-free at the moment."

"Oh, come on, Kush, you can't be serious!" Carriegan protested.

"I swear on Orion's belt," she refuted, lazily lifting one hand. "There are no boys turning my head at the moment. Elena?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever snuck a peek at the records in the hospital wing to find out more about someone?"

Elena covered her mouth with one hand, her shoulders shaking and her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Once," she admitted. "In a way. Aidan McBride once left the infirmary with a distinct waddle, and Nurse Kayenta wouldn't tell me what it was from, so I looked it up later."

"What was it from?"

"Well, just this once I'll allow the second question," she allowed, giggling. "The note on the chart says he sat on an unidentified potion."

"That was three years ago!" Kushiel protested, and Cliona started snorting.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "How do you know about it, Kush?"

"Who do you think made the potion?"

"Kush!" Cate exclaimed.

"It was just boils," she shrugged. "Nurse Kayenta told him they were best left to their own devices for a while."

"I am so proud of you," the alumnist gushed, and everyone started laughing again. Cate clapped her hands several times to bring them all back to focus. "Okay, Elena's turn."

"Ummmm, okay," she said slowly, pulling her thoughts together. "So, Cliona, what's this I heard from the nun about you being naked in Callum's room?"

Cliona flushed scarlet as all eyes except Kush's turned on her incredulously. "Um…"

"Damn, woman!" Carriegan cried. "You don't usually move that fast!"

"I didn't!" Clinoa protested. "We were just naked! It's not like anything was going on! Besides, I wasn't naked! There was clothing!" Kush raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, for which she was extremely grateful. "Anyways, Kush."

The redhead looked up sharply, warily. This went against customary behaviour; she and Cli knew each other far too well to make truth or truth any kind of simple task, so they very rarely asked each other questions.

"So how much older do your tastes run?"

She might have gotten highly upset with her friend for this, but she chose instead to make light of it throwing everyone else off. "Oh, anywhere between ten and thirty is good for me."

"Years old?" Cate demanded incredulously.

"Years older," Kushiel corrected wickedly.

"So twenty's okay," Cliona murmured in her ear, and she nodded bemusedly.

"So Carriegan, just how nice do you think Cúan's eyes are?"

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The girls lounged on the stone rim of the fountain, heads leaned back wearily. Afternoon sun eat down warmly on their faces.

"That game was vicious," Carriegan moaned at last.

"You expected something different?" Kushiel asked archly, leaning forward to avoid the spray.

"No, but still."

They made an interesting picture, spread along the fountain as they were. All six of them were in their uniforms, the short pleated grey skirts and vests, the crisp white dress shirts and house ties, the simple white knee-highs and black heels. Each had their own twists on it, of course, each bringing something of themselves to the tableau, but it couldn't have stated any more clearly that school was about to start. They watched the simple yellow school bus chug up the road from the gates, plotting its winding progress. It didn't seem like much, but like anything in the wizarding world, it was far more than it seemed.

"So this'll be an interesting year, yeh?" Kushiel asked.

"I think that's a safe word," Sabina agreed, flicking an imaginary bit of dust off her skirt.

The bug screeched to a halt, the doors opening to let out a never-ending stream of students.

"It's our last year."

They waved back to several girls waving frantically at them, all of them smiling slightly.

"We'll just have to make sure it's a damn good one, then."


	8. Back to the Grindstone

**Disclaimer: Still not mine.**

_A/N: Please review? Please? Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?_

Chapter Eight: Back to the Grindstone

The scratching of quills sounded hugely in the otherwise silent space, the occasional turn of a page seeming a roar. Classes had been in place for two weeks, and the seventh years were finding themselves burdened with far more work than they'd ever imagined. Even Aurelia had been seen to be hitting the books in some subjects, though there were some she had given up as a lost cause years before. Cliona sighed and looked back down at her foot and a half long essay on the properties of Salamander ashes in potions. Another foot and a half to go.

She'd been using the library as a refuge, of sorts, over the past two weeks. It was one of the very few places where she didn't have striking memories of Callum, mainly because she'd done most of her summer studying out of doors. She missed him like a constant ache in her side, but so far, the Headmaster showed no signs of lifting his restriction. No seeing except for longing glances at meals, no talking except through the notes Kushiel would pass along, and no touching.

That one unfortunately didn't have an exception.

Kushiel glanced up at the sigh from her extra Transfiguration book. "And why so great a sigh?" she murmured, marking her place by laying down her quill on the page.

"I miss him," she said without preamble. It was the simple, unadorned truth: she did miss him.

Smiling sadly, Kushiel reached out and took her friend's hand. "I know, sweeting, and I'm sorry."

Closing her book, the brunette thumped her head wearily against the table. "Remember how I said I was worried that it might just be the wolves reacting to each other?"

"Yeh."

"I don't think it is, at least not for me. I don't think of him in his wolf form most of the time, I see him as him, with the curls and the mismatched eyes and the smile." She looked up and met her friend's sympathetic gaze. "For the first time, I understand why Conri was willing to accept exile from the pack if he had to in order to be with Samantha."

The redhead nodded thoughtfully. It had been quite the turmoil last year, when Clan McCullough had called all its people home. Conri III had vanished, with only the word that he was safe, and they'd been forced to undergo the rites of challenge to choose a new Alpha Heir. Cliona had won them, but the title had lain insecurely on her shoulders ever since, and she wanted desperately to give it back to Conri. His muggle and thoroughly human sweetheart, however, was going to need some time to be told and then adjust to the situation. If she chose to, that was.

"Why are guys able to make such fools of us?" Cliona moaned.

"Probably for the same reason we're able to make such fools of them," the other girl snickered. "We need them too much to ignore them, but they need us just as much."

"Callum seems just fine," she grumbled.

"Right, which is why none of us have seen him smile in two weeks."

"True."

After a moment, both girls sighed and re-opened their books, setting their noses back to the grindstone. It was impossible to tell how much later, but Cliona looked up from her potions book again. "What about you and the Headmaster?" she queried. "How's that going?"

"It's not," Kushiel answered wryly, not even glancing up from the words.

"You haven't given up, have you?"

"Given up on what, Cli? Nothing's ever going to happen."

"You don't know that," Cliona chided lightly.

"I may not be great at Divination, but it doesn't take a genius to see the end result of this one," she retorted. "He's the Headmaster. He's got that whole integrity thing going on. He's not going to go for it."

"He might," Cliona insisted. She sighed at the look her friend gave her. "What are you studying, anyway? You finished your homework half an hour ago."

"Some extra lessons with Professor Aberfoyle," she replied.

"How many extra lessons do you have, anyway?"

"Three," she shrugged. "Some with Professor Greywolf in Potions, some with Professor Lupin in Defense, and some with Professor Aberfoyle."

"And that work with the Headmaster?"

"That would be something I still can't talk about, Cli. No more than I could before."

"Come on, Kush, I'm your best friend!"

"Cliona, I made a vow," Kushiel hissed lowly. "Do you get that piece of it? I took out my wand, and I made a vow not to talk about it without anyone other than the Headmaster and certain of the professors." She closed the book and rested her forehead on it. "You have no idea how much I want to, Cli, I would like so much to get all this off my chest, but I just can't."

"I understand," the other girl sighed. "It's just frustrating."

"Tell me about it."

"Ladies, are we studying or gossiping?"

They both looked up at the male voice and regarded Mister Skyler, the librarian, with bemused expressions. "Yes," they answered in unison.

He was somewhat young for a librarian, probably in his mid forties, but he knew his library better than the back of his hand. Smiling at them, he pulled out a chair and sat down with them at their table. "You know, there are better places for heart to hearts than an echoing library."

They traded glances. "Indeed," Cliona conceded. "But, most of those places are occupied. So here we are, where none of our fellow students dare to venture."

Kushiel just nodded and jotted down a note in her composition book.

He looked at them for a moment, his dark grey eyes judging the current of tension. "I understand where I'm intruding," he chuckled finally. Mister Skyler shook his head and got to his feet, leaving them alone at the table.

"Did you do the Arithmancy homework?" Cliona asked after a time.

"Yeh, I did it last night."

"Can I borrow?"

"No."

Cliona sighed and wrote another sentence on her essay.

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"This looks awfully funny," a light haired brunette frowned down at her book, crossing her eyes to see if the numbers made any more sense in that fashion.

"What is it, Elowen?"

"Arithmancy," the girl sighed, her blue eyes closing. "I don't even know why I'm still in it, I can't tell three from a gator in the water, and I grew up with the gators."

The assembled girls laughed, and Cliona headed over to Elowen's side, laying her hand on the southern belle's shoulder to look at the page. "Well," she began, her face carefully expressionless, "it helps if you're looking at the book right side up."

Amidst more laughter, Elowen gravely turned her book in the proper fashion and crossed her eyes at it. "No, it still don't make sense," she answered, drawling voice tripping over a stifled giggle.

There were nine girls clustered together in the Student Tables, books and notebooks lying in the midst of bowls of chips and snacks, glasses with anti-condensation charms on them, and plates of cookies and pies. They were in an odd assortment of muggle clothing and uniform, clearly going for comfort.

Remus, Ginny, and Callum sat at the High Table, drinking cups of tea and watching the scene bemusedly. "Are they actually studying?" Remus murmured.

"I think so," his wife answered, sipping from her delicate porcelain cup.

"Carriegan, you don't use lethifold skins in healing potions; they make poisons."

"Oh." The elegant Colubrae girl sighed and pulled some of the ink from her parchment with a charm, essentially erasing the paragraph. "See, this is why I didn't want to be in potions another year; I really don't care about it. Thanks, Kush."

"No problem, hon," the redhead dismissed absently, scratching the tip of her nose with the feathered end of the quill. "Pass the cheese and crackers, will you please?" The platter was passed along through five pairs of hands before it reached her, and she nibbled daintily on her chosen munchable. "Why is this escaping my brain at the moment?"

"What's escaping your brain?" Another redhead asked, her frizzy hair almost orange in certain lights.

"What was Lysander's sister's name? The one who would kill all the virgins and bathe in their blood?"

Carriegan wrinkled her nose in polite distaste. "You mean Leila?"

"That's the one," she sighed. "Leila Tepish, crazy bat extraordinaire." She smiled and got back to her History of Magic essay. Professor Sarah Kensington, their History of Magic instructor, had given them free rein on their paper of the week, allowing them to choose their own topics for this one paper. She was perhaps going to be getting more than she had bargained for in the newest batch.

"What are you writing about Leila for?" Gwenynen Mela asked curiously, brown eyes soft.

"History of Magic."

"Ah." Gwen glanced down at her own roll of parchment and smiled. "I think I'm going to write about Merlin's prostate problems; according to the journals of Seren, a priestess of Avalon, the almighty Merlin couldn't get it up."

"Wow, gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'Merlin's balls,'," Aurelia giggled, and snorting laughter flew through the thick.

Elena pulled off one sock and shoe, staring down at her foot.

"Elena, what the hell are you doing?" Sabina queried, blood red fingernails sliding thoughtfully along her quill.

"Nurse Kayenta gave me some questions about the foot," she answered simply. "But the instep isn't in quite the proportion to the actual joint of the metatarsal joints as I thought I had remembered."

"Right…"

Kushiel felt a small rustling against her cheek and turned her head, only to narrowly miss being stabbed in the eye by a paper bird's beak. She caught it gently in her hand, gazing at it curiously. Tapping it lightly with her wand, it unfolded in her hand to reveal a short note.

_"Just what are you girls doing over there? –Callum"_

Smirking, she scribbled out a reply and the crane refolded itself, flying back across the Great Hall to land on the tip of Callum's teacup.

"What's that?" Ginny smiled and looked over his shoulder as he unfolded it.

"I asked what they were doing," he replied.

"And she said what?"

"We're having a homework party," he read aloud. The three British transplants all looked at each other. "What the hell is a homework party?"

"I would suggest you ask."

Shrugging, he added the new piece and sent it flying back. The bird returned quickly with a new response. Unfolding it, he started laughing. "We're Americans," he relayed. "We'll throw a party for anything."

"But Kush isn't American," Ginny pointed out through a giggle, and Callum quickly sent it once again to the redhead.

The crane was weary on his return flight, but struggled valiantly until he collapsed in Callum's hand. The young man shook his head and unfolded it manually. "I'm American by location." He laughed and set the paper down beside his saucer. "They're all crazy," he chuckled.

"Talented, though," Remus noted. "Had to send a seventh year Lobostro boy to the infirmary today because he didn't get his shield charm up fast enough against Carriegan's hex. Ravenesque, on the other hand, got a shield charm so strong even afore mentioned attacker couldn't get through it. They may seem looser than back home, but they certainly pull it together in the classroom. Well, for the most part," he amended ruefully, bringing laughter from his wife and more or less adopted cub.

A small paper wolf raced across the empty air to nuzzle at Cliona's cheek, and she stared at it with wide eyes before gently taking it in hand. Kush smiled across at her, but didn't comment.

Aurelia frowned down at her transfigurations book. "If I'm stuck out in the wilderness, the first thing I'm going to want is not going to be a teapot, and if I'm not out in the wilderness, I can just buy one. Why do we have to write this essay?"

"Because porcelain, which many teapots are made of, can transfigure a little differently than say, steel," Elowen supplied helpfully. "It's the theory behind the porcelain that's important, not the teapot itself."

"Oh."

The homework party, a years old tradition, continued in full swing even straight through dinner, the oldest students just giving younger ones carefully blank looks in response to the stares.

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"It's six in the morning," Aurelia yawned, her blonde hair in complete disarray around her face. "Why are we out here?"

"We're here for moral support," Cliona scolded her. "Carr's trying out for the Quidditch team, she needs us to be here for her."

"But I'm not in Colubrae, why do I care if they have a good team?"

"You don't care about Colubrae, you care about Carriegan."

" But Carriegan is a Colubrae."

Cliona sighed and lightly banged her head against one of the posts in the stands.

Elowen laughed breathily. "Honey, if you haven't learned by now not to expect sense out of her in the morning, then you just ain't been paying much attention in the past six years."

To be perfectly honest, the girls didn't pay much attention to the try-outs; their words to Carriegan afterwords would be based on whether or not she made the team, not on what they may or may not have seen. They huddled together in the weak early light, sipping from mugs of hot coffee or chocolate, and giggling over the latest gossip. Smart they may have been, but they were still girls, and the follies of other students were prime amusement.

Kushiel watched out of the corner of her eye as Ginny and Callum came out into the pitch, sitting in the Parador section of the stands. It was now the beginning of October, and so far, the Headmaster had shown no signs of relenting on the restriction. It had become quite commonplace for small Origami animals to be perched on Cliona's desk or shoulder during classes, meals, or in the halls, and she had quite a little menagerie growing above the canopy to her bed, but still no direct contact allowed. Sighing, she turned her attention back to the delicious tidbit about the fourth year Lobostro couple getting caught in the girl's bathroom.

Around ten o'clock, though no one checked their watches to be sure, Carriegan came rushing up to them, her face split open in a broad grin, short purple hair of the day matted with sweat. "I made it!" she squealed, for once disregarding of her dignity. "I'm the seeker!"

"Congrats!"

Elowen was the first bowled over by the running glomp, but they careened into Raven, Gwen, and Cliona, bringing everyone else down with them. Laughing, the eight girls carefully picked themselves up out of the tangle and got to their feet.

"Go shower," Cliona told their friend, nose wrinkled slightly. "Then we'll have a celebratory brunch."

Still grinning, Carriegan nodded and walked back onto the pitch to pick up her broomstick, slinging it over her shoulder as she headed towards the locker rooms. She smiled at Callum as he fell in step beside her.

"So I take it the squealing means you made the team?" he surmised lightly.

"Yes!" She answered ecstatically.

"Congratulations," he chuckled. "I'm sure you'll be great."

He gave her a quick hug, but she tugged his head down and kissed him, her lips warm and soft against his. He returned it, he was only human after all, but he frowned slightly when he eventually pulled away.

She set he hand on her hip, regarding him with a wry smirk. "Wow, you really are Cliona's, aren't you?"

"I think I am," he confessed. "That really didn't feel quite right."

"You're lucky I have my sights on someone right now," she retorted, resuming her path, "or I would have kept at it till it did feel right." She stopped suddenly and turned back around to face him. "You know, you'd be saving everyone, including yourself, a lot of trouble if you'd just declare and have done with it."

"Declare?" he echoed.

"Stake your claim," she clarified. "If you want to be with Cliona, then announce that you are with Cliona, so no one else tries to interfere. You're both happy with each other, you work well together, why are you so resistant to the idea?" Carriegan didn't wait for a response, turning on her heel and whistling on her way into the locker room to clean up and change.

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Ignoring the sneering comments of Lysander in the background, Kushiel sat at her small desk in the Headmaster's Office, stroking the purring Bast along her back. The office had become her refuge as more and more younger ones discovered the library, and she felt a little guilty about abandoning Cliona at these times, but sometimes, it was nice to have the peace and quiet. The Headmaster was in a staff meeting, so she knew she had some time alone, and Lysander was easy enough to ignore on the rare occasions she didn't feel like sparring with him.

Bast hopped off of her lap, sauntering off, and the redhead smiled, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill. Dipping the quill in a well of dark green ink, she began to write.

_Dear Mum,_

_I am sorry for taking so long to write back, but I hardly think a span of two weeks is grounds for telling Rarda to bite me; Nurse Kayenta said it was nearly down to the bone. You're lucky I love you, or I would be giving Indra the same instructions, purely out of principle. It has, however, been very busy. I guess I knew vaguely that seventh years had a great deal of work, but I hadn't really expected it to be this much! Then again, half of us are taking extra lessons on top of our classes; those of us who know what we want to do after graduation are encouraged to get as much extra help while we have it, so I'm continuing my extra lessons with Professors Greywolf, Lupin, and Aberfoyle, as well as my research project with the Headmaster. I'm sure Grandmother with have conniptions, me working so closely with male professors, but we can't all attend the _Mistress Haversham's Magical School for Elegant Young Ladies_. Forgive me while I make rude sounds._

_Given the extraordinary amount of work, both in class and out of class, I think I may need to stay here over the majority of the Christmas hols, though I'll definitely come for a day or three. After all, I need my fix of fresh baked cookies and Mum-talks. I really do miss you, Mum, and don't start laughing! It's true! And what's more, you know it. _

_I think I need some advice. You told me once that you were head over heels in love with your history of magic instructor, Profeseur Artaud. What did you do about that? I've got one of those damn pangs again, and I can't seem to get rid of it no matter how hard I try. I would rather not say which one at the moment; there is, after all, some hope that I can put things back to normal, and if that becomes the case, the name will never matter. I asked Nanan about Professeur Artaud, but she started laughing too hard to tell me, which I must say makes me distinctly uneasy._

_The girls all say hello, and they can't wait to see you again. Cliona's completely entranced with Callum, as I've told you, but the Headmaster still hasn't granted them reprieve. Although! We hatched up a plot today at lunch that we think will prove most interesting. Entertaining, at the very least. One of the obstacles to Cliona being with Callum, or indeed anyone, is of course Aidan. We have to get him out of the way! So, we came up with a brilliant beyond brilliant idea. Aidan is going to be Aurelia's new toy. He doesn't know it yet, but the idiot savante side of the girl is definitely coming to the forefront on this one. I just can't figure out how someone so brilliant at charms can manage to be so completely air-headed. It's like she did a bubble-head charm as a child, but got it inside out. She's already making plans for how to go about it, and I wish her all the luck in the world. I'm lucky, I only have to deal with Shanahan during the summers that I'm home; she has to deal with Aidan whenever she goes home or he happens to come by. I'd say we need a rule to regulate the appearance of alumnae on campus, but then that would restrict Cate's visits, and we couldn't possibly have that._

_Have you heard from Rhonwyn recently? She told me she was going to be settling in with Nanan in Navarre, but that was over a month ago. She's probably just forgotten, but I was hoping maybe she just forgot me. She was supposed to tell me if Nanan's gardener is really as hunky as she keeps telling us he is. I swear I don't know how Papa keeps up with her; they've been married for nearly forty years, and her eye is still the fastest in a room to find a cute bum._

_At any rate, I need to finish this up soon; I have a chapter to read for Professor Aberfoyle before Elowen and I can go for our lesson…I should probably send her a reminder to read it, just to be on the safe side. I hope you're well, and not going TOO out of your way to terrorize Grandmother; you wouldn't want her to think she's worth the extra effort, after all. _

_Bises,_

_Kush_

_P.S.- Can you please remember to give Indra some water this time? The poor dear was terribly dehydrated when he returned last time._

Smiling, Kush sealed the letter with an etched rose and slid it into her backpack to take to the owlery later.

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"Kush, cover your oatmeal!"

Without taking the time to think through the odd request, Kushiel leaned over her bowl, feeling something drop onto her back.

Cliona leaned over and plucked the envelope off of the redhead's back. "It's from your mam," she reported, handing it to her.

Glaring at the entirely too smug falcon currently digging its claws into the edge of the Lobostro table, Kush reluctantly gave it a piece of bacon. "Radra, one of these days, you and I are going to have a long talk with a burlap bag, a pile of stones, and a river." The falcon flipped its tail feathers at her and stole a roll off of Elowen's plate.

"Your mama has the rudest messenger ever," the southern girl sighed.

"He amuses her, for some reason," she answered absently, sliding a fingernail underneath the aqua wax seal. "Will anyone be horribly offended if I read this now?"

"Go for it," Carriegan replied, sipping from her mug of coffee.

She unfolded it and smoothed out the crease, smiling vaguely.

_Dear Kush, _

_Since when have I ever taken less than exemplary care of that daft parrot you have the nerve to call a kestrel? Honestly, I should send you to your Grandmother's for the summer to learn some manners and respect. I have a feeling, however, that one or the both of you won't survive the experience, and I'm not entirely willing to cast bets._

_I remember seventh year quite well; it was the year I perfected the innocent dismissal. Took me almost an entire term to do it, too. Just keep at it, precious; it'll be worth it. I would, however, prefer that you not run yourself entirely into the ground? I'm rather fond of my daughters, I'd really rather one of them not work herself to death. _

_And yes, I have heard from Rhonwyn, who is, for the moment, settled in with your Nanan. And that is why I urged Radra to bite you until you replied to the last one, so that I could write this to you: you will definitely be coming home for a few days over hols, because that is the new date of your sister's wedding. _

"What the hell?" she muttered. "It wasn't supposed to be till next August."

_Why did your sister change her date, you might ask? The answer is simple: your Grandmother. As soon as Rhonwyn told her the date, she pitched an absolute fit, even came all the way up here to Haven to do it. She stated most emphatically (shrilly) that no O'Grady woman has ever reached such a shameful age as eighteen without being wed. With August being after New Years, of course, Rhon would be eighteen. So, being the pacific little doll that she is, she changed the date to two months from now. If she had to get stuck into the same arranged marriage nonsense that nabbed me, at least Pierce is a pretty good fellow. She is actually quite amazingly down to earth around him; even if he weren't marrying her, I think I might beg him to stay around. Currently, your Grandmother is arguing about whether or not she should keep the O'Grady or accept the McAllison. Personally, I think she should take the McAllison; after all, your Aunt Siobhan's boys can carry on the last name. But then, I think that is what your grandmother is excepting so strenuously to. _

_At any rate, the date has been changed, and you will, of course, need to be there. However, there are several things that I promise you right here and now, and you have my sworn oath on them, precious. _

_Number one: your dress will not be ghastly. I promise to intervene on your behalf if the case should arise that Rhonwyn starts making disastrous choices. Or, as would be more in keeping with her overall personality, doesn't make the choices at all. You will look beautiful, my love, but I will also promise to keep you from looking like one of those idiotic fashion dolls your Grandmother insists on sending you each year from Paris. _

_Number two: You will not be required to help set up, help take down, or help in any way with the ceremony other than standing, walking, and talking on cue. No matter your Grandmother's efforts. I will not expect you to be overly sociable, simply pleasant to the point of well-bred disdain. We do have a reputation to uphold, I'll remind you, and it would kill it to have you standing there grinning like Aurelia._

_Number three: I have already put my foot down about you. Sensing she was fighting a losing battle on trying to get me to marry you off before your eighteenth, she has now switched tactics, and wants me to betroth you before the New Year. Over my dead body, was I believe what I told her. I further stated that you are still in school, so there will be absolutely no talks of marriage or betrothal, and that you are not an O'Grady, whatever your blood, and your more permanent alliances will be taken into consideration by the de Navarres when the time comes. I pretty much figure on that time being when you come to me and say "Mum, this boy I'm wildly absolutely in love with just proposed and I said yes". Then we can draw up all the necessary documents and your Grandmother can spin on her nose, for all I care. I have not been grossly unhappy in my own marriage, and I know Rhonwyn will be content in hers, but you require more than contentedness, precious, and I know that. When you find it, we will act accordingly. Until then, I don't want you to feel like you are under any kind of pressure. You get that enough with school._

_And your Grandmother._

_At any rate, about your pang, I'll confess I'm wildly curious as to who it is. However, I will not ask you, nor imply that you should tell me. You'll tell me when you want to. But sweet Nimue, I hadn't thought of Professeur Artaud in years! But I'm not at all surprised your Nanan would be laughing that hard still after all these years; it is rather difficult to forget that she had to come to school at the crack of dawn on Christmas Day and persuade Madame Giseaux not to expel me. You see, precious, I was convinced that he must have liked me too, otherwise why would he have assigned me all those detentions in the cold dungeons? You know how thin the uniforms are there. At any rate, I charmed a sprig of mistletoe to trap him in a hallway on Christmas Eve, succeeded in kissing him, and promptly got hauled to Madame Giseaux's office with threats of expulsion. As it was, the rest of the school year was very awkward. _

_However, that being said, it is not at all what I would recommend. You're a researcher, Kush, and patience is one of your strong suits; use it. Wait and see if they show an attraction in return (I would suggest not going off of the same qualifications as I did), and if they do, you'll be eighteen. And if not eighteen, damn close. I hope it's that Headmaster of yours-_

Kushiel set down her glass of orange juice with a loud clunk, choking on it for a moment. Raven pounded gently on her back until she could breathe again, but it still took a moment before she was brave enough to look back down at the letter.

_-what's his name, Clark Dowling? Yes, your former Defense professor. He was cute, that one, but intelligent and good-natured, which is, unfortunately, more important for any kind of longevity. And working with him one on one in his office must be letting you two get rather well acquainted?_

"Damn intuition," the redhead muttered, savagely tearing the end off a piece of bacon with her teeth.

_At any rate, precious, I'll let you stew on that as long as you need to, and don't be surprised if you get a letter from your Grandmother a couple of weeks before the wedding with the name of a "suitable" young man you could use to make it a double wedding. I know I will speak to you before then, but until next time, I love you._

_Bises,_

_Mum_

"So," the girl began, addressing the girls as a group. "Who wants to go to Rhon's wedding at the beginning of hols?"

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Cliona snuggled further into her blankets, glowering at the sputtering candle. You'd think, having grown up in southeastern Pennyslvania, she'd have gotten used to the cold, but even in the beginning of October, there was a definite nip to the air, enough to make it a little chilly at night. She pulled her cushioned lap desk closer and set the simple muggle gel pen back to the parchment.

_Dear Mam,_

_Whoever invented hormones should not have been allowed to so. My stomach knots up every time I see Callum, and it's really not fair! And don't tell me this is what Aidan must be going through, Mam, you know I don't buy that. _

_However, I don't have a lot of time to write long; we have so much schoolwork! I wanted to ask permission for holiday plans, so we can finalize everything with everyone. You can imagine me making a face there, I know it doesn't sound very intelligent, but I'm frankly too lazy to either erase or scratch out. I know you haven't met her before, but do you remember hearing Kushiel talk about her twin sister Rhonwyn? I know you're trying not to cringe at the moment, but you needn't worry, Rhon isn't anything like Kush. They don't even look alike, and Rhon is very quiet. She went to Hogwarts. Anyway, she's getting married in December._

_And yes, she's young, but as Kush likes to say, "Things are still a bit backwards across the pond". Rhon has been betrothed to this guy since she was born, and Miss Séraphine says she seems content enough with it. We girls have been invited for the wedding, probably so Kush can have some company other than her Grandmother's invited guests. I'd like to go, and it should be fun. It's also only for a few days, not the entirety of the holidays, and then I could come home. _

_Yes, I know I said I wasn't going to come home, but I miss you. And the others, of course. I want you to promise me, however, that you'll figure out a way to keep Aidan away from me. Why can't his parents put him on a leash? _

_However, speaking of Aidan, and I'll explain that one in a later letter, I have a rather large favor to ask. You might remember that Aurelia's parents don't like to hear about her older sister Analilian, not since she turned her back on her magical heritage and embraced the muggle world of her mother instead. Aurelia and Lily have kept in contact through letters, and she wishes to go out to Phoenix for Christmas, so she can spend some time with her older sister. However, her parents obviously aren't going to give her permission. So, when we all get back from Ireland, could she tell her parent she's staying with us? She'd be in Phoenix, in easy contact, and could apparate quickly back if there are any problems, but she really would like to see her sister._

_But, it is late, and I need to get to sleep so I can stay awake through Arithmancy in the morning. Give my love to Da and the boys._

_Love,_

_Cli_

Covering her yawn with one hand, Cliona set the lapdesk down on the floor by her bed, blowing out the candle and snuggling comfortably into her blankets.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"His green eyes are really something, aren't they?" Carriegan murmured, her own eyes half closed in thought.

Aurelia glanced up from her Charms homework. "Who's eyes?"

"Cúan's."

"Going after a family member?" Aurelia asked, closing her text over her parchment. "That's a little risky, isn't it?"

"Cli said if I was interested, she would give me permission."

The blonde girl considered it for a moment, tugging on a pigtail. "He is cute, I'll grant you, but would you be up to the whole fuzzy thing?"

"I've been up to the whole fuzzy thing, as you so delicately call it, for six years now with Cliona," the metamorphmaus retorted.

"Yes, but it's very different when you're dating them," Aurelia offered sagely, and Carriegan stared at her.

"How the hell would you know? You've never dated a lycan, have you?"

"No," Aurelia shrugged. "But Raven dated Connor for a little while, and she said it was very different."

"Connor was born under a full moon," the Colubrae girl dismissed. "Of course it would be different."

"That doesn't make sense, Carr," the Parador protested. "He's still a lycan, after all."

"Connor was born under the full moon," Carriegan repeated patiently. "He was born as a wolf, it was the first thing he ever knew. Most werewolves are themselves most of the month, and the 'other' skin three days a month. For Connor, it's the other way around. For all but three days of each moon cycle, he feels out of place in his own skin."

"Oh." They sat in silence for several moments, listening to the water chime musically down from the eyes of the golden phoenix statue in the entrance hall. "So you don't think it would be weird, dating Cli's brother?"

"Probably would," the other girl agreed. "Still, it might be fun. Tayla, remember her? She graduated last year from Lobostro? She said he bites wickedly, and I'm rather fond of that."

"I'll be sure to pass that bit along," Aurelia replied in a rare moment of dryness.

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Smoothing back the first year boy's black hair, Callum checked the flushed forehead for a fever. Still overly warm, but it was coming down significantly. Picking up his clipboard, he settled into the chair by the boy's bed and began to write, his mostly tidy writing tilting across the page.

_Dear Heidi,_

_I don't suppose there's any possible way for me to convince you NOT to talk to Ginny about absolutely everything you want to know? I realize you've become much closer friends over the past ten years than you were in school, because of me being with them, but honestly, Heidi, sometimes I think you know things about my life before I do, and that's downright irritating._

_But, to answer your question, no, the Headmaster has not given any indication of lifting the restraining order. I haven't asked him about it, to be honest. Batty as he seems, you can ask Dumbledore anything; he'll just tap dance around giving you the answer until he's been sufficiently amused. Dowling, though, I'm not really sure why, but you sometimes start to ask a question and then think better of it. It's no magic, really, more instinct, but there are some questions that you just know that he's not going to answer, so why bother wasting your breath?_

_It's actually a quality that he and Kush have in common. And don't even try to claim innocence in your reply, Heidi, I know all about your correspondence with her. As soon as I can figure out how she got your address, I'm going to…then again, who wrote the first letter? Her or you? _

_I'm going through a bit of a quandary, to be honest. I've told you of Cliona, and while on this bloody restriction, I have hung out with some of the other girls, but none of them make me feel quite like she does. Carriegan told me I need to get off my ass and declare, only she phrased it barely more delicately, but a large part of me really doesn't want to do that. What if it's only the wolves calling each other? I'd like to think that I had some choice in who I spend the rest of my life; it's very depressing to think that my hormones are going to completely control me at the whim of the wolf. He sings whenever he catches her scent, so I smile, but is it really me? If I weren't a lycan, would I still be attracted to her? I don't want to do her the disservice of declaring if I find only a short time later that it is only the wolves, that the humans aren't compatible. At any rate, I can't decide one way or the other until the limit is finally lifted, so a bit of advice would be appreciated._

_And seeing as you'd be writing it down, I wouldn't actually hear the muffled laughter that I always hear in Ginny. _

_Mother promised to write me with an update as to Father's condition; has anything changed? She hasn't written, and I was starting to worry. Your mostly affection aside, the man's an honest to Merlin bastard; I'm not entirely sure he hasn't warranted it. But, I'll play the good son and inquire, and if I snicker over it later, I know you'll forgive me, because you'll be rolling your eyes over Mother's histrionics at the same time. _

_There's a little boy I'm watching over right now. He's in Parador, which values a great deal of the same virtues as Gryffindor. His name is Loiran Bahess, and he's very very sick. Nurse Kayenta says it's a mostly muggle condition called Leukemia. Usually, the magic in our blood protects us from such things, but his magic stream seems to be missing part of its immuno-aspects. They're going to move him to a wizarding hospital in Washington D.C., the nation's capital, where they're doing research to help discover a cure for both basic variations. Robin tells me there are many different types of the disease, and that it's generically called cancer, and the doctors want to understand it so they can eventually cure both the muggle and magical versions. It's something I would love to pose to Professor Snape and Hermione; it's a challenge they would both be itching to try. But, it's also one that will be many years in the making, and Hermione still beats herself up over the Wolfsbane, despite the advancements she's made towards making it more comfortable for us. The professors here are working to make sure Loiran will be able to continue his studies at his own pace, as his illness allows. Robin is going to give me more information on it, but his parents are going to hire a tutor to gather the material from the instructors here and teach it to him. Twelve years old, and for who knows how long, the expanse of his freedom will be the length of his room._

_Pray for him, Heidi, when you light your candles; no child should have to live like that._

_Love,_

_Callum_

Sighing, he set the pen down and checked Loiran's temperature again. In a few days, the boy would be taken to the city and put into the care of people who needed the information his diseased body could provide. Sometimes he wondered what the point of magic was when there were still such destructive things that magic couldn't heal.

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It was a slightly odd sight that greeted Polonius Aberfoyle when he walked into his classroom after dinner. Kushiel and Elowen sat tailor fashion on desks in the front row, eyes closed as they faced each other and breathed deeply. "Girls?"

Elowen opened her eyes and smiled at the Transfigurations professor. "You said to practice meditation, sir," she reminded him.

"Did you two skip dinner?" he asked, still a little confused.

Kushiel checked her watch, the face resting against the inside of her left wrist. She smiled sheepishly at her southern friend. "I guess we can safely say we learned to avoid distractions."

"Yeah, like our rumbling tummies."

Chuckling, Polonius went to his desk and poured a little bit of floo powder into the torch bowl sitting on the surface. "Can someone come to my office please?" he spoke into it.

A moment later, a house elf popped into view, his eyes nearly hidden by a lilac and neon green cowboy hat. An opaque black shower curtain, covered in gold shooting stars draped around it in a kind of toga. Both girls stared at it for a moment, more than a little nonplussed. Its huge brown eyes peered out at them from under the brim of the hat. "How many Haddi serve master and misses?" It asked in its squeaky voice.

"Haddi, could you please bring the girls each a tray from dinner?"

"Haddi be glad to serve," it squeaked, disappearing. It returned only a moment later with two trays, which the girls took with bemused thank yous. They sat staring at the spot it had occupied for several moments after it had left.

"I thought we had uniforms," Kushiel finally said mildly.

"Haddi is a special case," the professor answered. "His family died and he came to Avsitrum seeking employment, because he wasn't willed to anyone. The Headmaster told him he could dress as he chose."

"So he's an eccentric, if he's seeking pay."

"Pretty much sums it up, yes." He watched them eat for a while, letting them actually take in their meal. "So what are you learning from your meditations?"

"I'm learning that my right ear itches like chiggers are bitin it," Elowen laughed. "It's so hard to concentrate through that."

He nodded as if he'd been expecting something along those lines and looked at the Irish girl. "How about you, Kush?"

"I smell things around me much more clearly," she responded slowly. "Like, Elowen changed her scent."

"Whatcha talking about?" the other girl asked curiously.

"You normally smell like peaches," Kush answered. "It's light and mild, not overpowering, but today you're wearing something that smells suspiciously like something Carriegan would wear. It's too sophisticated for you, in a way, it goes against your natural scent."

Professor Aberfoyle simply nodded thoughtfully. They still had a ways to go, but they were getting closer.

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It was a little too warm, she decided.

Then again, with Tommo curled up on her lap, Lorcan sleeping against her back, and Morrigan nestled into her side, it wasn't any surprise that she was overly warm. Ginny smiled and sharpened the tip on her quill, dipping into the multi-colored ink.

_Dear Hermione,_

_It's official; I love this school. Do you know what these kids did today? They put Ron and Harry to shame without even trying._

_They found out the librarian's birthday. He's not that old, really, I can't think that Adam would be more than fifty five. So what do they do? They wake up before he does, break into the library, and hide every single book. Every single book! They then took the empty shelves, transfigured them into headstones and mausoleums, into the grave angels and tombs, and draped the entire room in black silk and crèpe. After hanging up a black banner that read "One Step Closer to Our Side Now", you know what they did next, Mione? They left. They just left it there and went back to bed. Adam could not for the life of him figure out who had done it, and he was freaking out completely because he couldn't find the books. For almost an entire day, we were a library with no books!_

_Finally, Adam went to the Headmaster, and he and Clark went into the library to try and find the books, and there were the girls, perched very calmly amidst all the tombstones with birthday cake, ice cream, snacks, and drinks. I think Adam was nearly in tears, he was so relieved that there was no foul play. They lost some house points for scaring him, but he gave them right back when they cleaned everything up and put everything back in its proper places. _

_I would have fit right in with these girls in school, and I think the apprentice you would have fit in as well. Now you've got Hayden, and you have to be responsible again, and of course you were a bossy terror in school, but there was a time there when you let your hair down, and you would have loved these girls. So, you're going to meet them._

_You don't have a choice in the matter, you know, neither you nor Severus. No reprieves. We are coming back across the pond to the Burrow for the beginning of hols. When we come back on Boxing Day, you three are coming with us and staying through a little after New Years. And don't start protesting! I want you to see the school, so you know what I'm talking about. I want you to meet the people, especially the girls, and I want you to see how zany everything truly is over here. It's quite fun. Plus, Severus is actually old friends with one of the professors here. Kraven Bloodthorne, the Divination professor, who puts the fear of God and more into these kids, is the Head of Colubrae House, and so much like your snarky, evil bastard of a husband that it's like seeing a less greasy, smaller nosed version of him. So now you have to come over._

_Imagine me sticking my tongue out at you; I know I look very silly doing it to the parchment, but there you are._

_And, of course, how are you going to meet Cliona if you don't come over? Your teases and barbs don't have quite the same effect on Callum, because you haven't actually met the object of his desire. Consider it research; the child grew up in pack, so she can tell you an entirely different aspect of lycanthropic life. It'll be a fun experience._

_And don't growl at me. Number one, you know I love you, and number two, I'll growl back. And my growl is better._

_Love,_

_Ginny_

As she wrote the letter, she felt first one warmth, then another, then the third gently lifted away from her. She finished in time to look up at Remus standing before her. "Was there something you wanted?" she asked archly, bemusedly allowing him to take the materials from her hands.

"Funny, really, that was exactly the question I was hoping you would ask," he answered lightly, pulling her to her feet and kissing her softly.

"You horny pervert."

"And proud of it."

She smiled and followed him happily into the bedroom, closing the door firmly in case any of the children should wake up.

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Dinner was proving to be far noisier than normal. Perhaps it was the snap in the air, giving that first slice of winter and bringing energy from that, or perhaps it was simply their bodies having finally adjusted to the routine and increased work load, but the students were loud and animated as they sat at their tables.

A golden kestrel winged its way into the hall, its fierce eyes scouring the room for its recipient. Finding her, it settled down regally on the edge of a soup tureen on Colubrae table and held the note out to Kushiel.

Smiling slightly, she took it from the beautiful bird. "Thank you, Needra. Would you like anything?"

The bird simply took off again, soaring out of the hall.

"Who's bird is that?" Elowen asked. "It looks almost exactly like yours."

"They're siblings," she answered absently, already sliding a nail under the seal. "Needra is Rhon's, Indra is mine." She smoothed out the message from Rhonwyn and looked at it. It was unusually short. Having never truly spoken much, Rhonwyn preferred written communications, and generally filled many pages at a time. There was a single sheet however.

_Kush,_

_I'll keep this short, because there honestly isn't that much to say. I got a letter from Da today. He's coming home, and he'll be back in time for the wedding. That's all he said, no mention of where he's been, but you'll be seeing him when you come home for the binding. I just thought you'd like to know. He isn't there yet, and I've borrowed Valkyrie from Nanan to tell Mum, but I know that you'll need some time to figure through this._

_All My Love,_

_Rhon_

It had to be a joke. She stared blankly at the letter, not even hearing the concerned queries of her friends. Abruptly she stood, paper clutched in her hand, and walked quickly out of the Great Hall, not even bringing her backpack with her.

Cliona watched after her, but she was not the only one. However, she chose to leave her best friend be for now; she would tell her when she was ready.

Due to the increasing threat of Persephone, curfew had become something that was actually fairly strictly enforced. Ten minutes after curfew, Clark went around to each guardian portrait, asking them if all their students had come safely in. Pyramis, in the tower, said yes, as did Luna and Englebert in the mid levels, but upon his descent into the dungeons, he found Caterina shaking her head.

"Madamoiselle de Navarre has not come in," she reported, black eyes a trifle anxious. "No one has seen her since dinner."

"Thank you," he said absently, already turning away. He had seen her walk out of the Great Hall at dinner, and she had appeared upset, but he had assumed that the first place she would go would be back to her dorm. Obviously, she hadn't.

A black shadow twined itself about his feet, making a slightly odd sound. He knelt down and scratched Bast gently beneath her chin, listening to the sound. It wasn't a purr, though it had the same kind of rumble; if he had to guess, he'd say it was close to concern. "Do you know where she is, Bast?"

She meowed and he straightened, following the moving shadow out to the entrance hall. She nudged at the closed doors, doors that had already been warded for the night. Sighing, he accepted the fact that nothing was allowed to be easy and lifted the wards. The cat goddess didn't follow him out, but he could see the light gleaming in her eyes as he cast _Lumos_.

Walking along the white path, he tried to predict where she might go. Outside was well and good, but it also happened to cover a great deal of territory. Thinking hard on the redhead, he twirled his wand in his palm. "Invenire," he whispered, and it spun further until it came to a stop facing the southwest. Clark followed the wand, adjusting his direction across the grass once he got out of the courtyard, until he finally saw her, walking slowly around the lake. He could see the crumpled edges of the paper still sticking out of her fist as he came closer.

Without a word, he fell into step beside her, and they paced a slow circuit around the edge of the water. It wasn't until they started on their second joint lap that he broke the silence. "What's wrong, Kitten?"

She handed him the letter without saying anything.

He read it through quickly, then handed it back, watching her expressionless face. Spying a bench ahead, Clark laid his hand against her shoulder and steered her towards it. They sat down, and she stared moodily into the dark water. "Is his coming back a bad thing?" he asked quietly.

"He has no right to come back," she whispered.

"Doesn't he?" he replied carefully. "You are his family, his wife and children."

"Then where has he been the past seven years?" she demanded fiercely. "He has no right whatsoever to leave us without an explanation and then suddenly come back."

"Who's wedding?"

"Rhon's," she answered shortly, rubbing a hand across her itching nose.

"Your sister? How old is she?"

"She's my twin," she told him, voice cracking slightly. "She's getting married at seventeen to someone Da and Grandmother betrothed her to when we were in the cradle. And Da decides he's suddenly going to show up in time for it."

"Kitten, he could have a legitimate reason for being away so long," he cautioned, rubbing one hand in soothing circles along her back.

She laid her arms on her knees and rested her forehead on them, muffling her voice. "He could have sent us a note, a letter, a message, something! Why is he coming back?"

"The only way you'll find that out is to ask him."

Kushiel looked up at him, tears gleaming in her vivid green eyes, darker and deeper in the weak light. The moon leeched the color out of her hair and skin, making her even more pale against the purplish-black that seemed her hair. "I don't understand Da," she confessed softly. "I never did. He doesn't know how to answer a question that doesn't involve numbers, even when numbers aren't the answer. I once asked him how the weather was outside and he just looked at me for a moment, and started giving me all the arithmantic computations for how much sunshine and rainfall Ireland was supposed to receive for the year. He was standing right by the window, all I wanted was for him to pull aside the drape and look outside."

Clark pulled her gently against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and rocking her slightly. "There's nothing wrong with being angry, Kush," he murmured into her hair, feeling her start to tremble. "He hurt you by leaving. But you shouldn't automatically close the door in his face."

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked dully, voice low. "How do I look at him all through the wedding and not ask him everything I want to know, because I know he can't answer me?"

He shifted away slightly, cupping her chin in hand and gently raising her face to meet his gaze. "I don't know, Kitten," he told her honestly. "But I do know that you have the strength and the heart to figure it out. Who knows, maybe he's learned something while he was away. And even if he hasn't, Kush, he's your dad, not you. Make peace with it either way and continue on with your own life." A tear fell trembling from her lashes and he wiped it away with his thumb. "Do you think you can do that?"

"I think I can try," she answered after a moment, her voice still shaking.

He gave her a few more moments there on the bench, simply holding her and letting her collect herself. Then he stood up, bringing her with him. "We need to get back into the school," he explained in response to her raised eyebrow. "Curfew was over an hour ago, and we need to get the wards back up on the doors."

"I'm sorry, sir," she whispered, hanging her head as they began to walk. "I didn't realize how much time had passed."

"It's all right, Kitten, there's no harm done."

She smiled slightly, a section of hair falling forward to obscure her face. She had grown rather fond of being called Kitten, though she wouldn't have admitted that to anyone. It was something only he called her, which she thought might possibly make her a little obsessive, but then, she hadn't asked him to call her that.

He quickly reset the wards on the doors after the entered the school. Kushiel crouched down and stroked the waiting Bast, the lithe body arching up to meet her caress. "She was worried about you," he mentioned off-handedly.

She didn't say anything, but then, he hadn't really expected her to. He resettled his wand into its sheath and walked beside her down towards the dungeons. They walked closely together, their shirts brushing against each other, their hands not quite touching. Neither was even truly aware of it, and they stopped just outside of Caterina Colubrae's portrait.

"Good night, Kushiel."

"And you, sir," she replied, smiling sadly.

Without thinking about it, he leaned forward and tenderly kissed her forehead. "Dream sweet," he whispered against her skin, then turned and walked quickly away.

Kushiel stood there for a long moment, resisting the urge to trail her fingers along her forehead where his lips had been. She turned to face the portrait, which simply opened for her, the subject's sculpted black brows raised inquisitively. There would be questions, she knew, once she entered her dorm room, as to where she had been since curfew. She didn't really want to deal with the questions, but she did want to go to bed, and she had to suffer through one to get to the other. Sighing, she headed in, hoping against hope that everyone else was asleep.


	9. A New Target

**Disclaimer: They're not mine. They're really not, and some days, I'm actually rather glad of that fact. If they were, everyone would have much higher expectations of me. **

_A/N: Please review! The more reviews I get, the faster I write, and the faster I write, the sooner you get to read more. So come on!_

_A/N2: On a more serious note, I am thrilled beyond words that some of you are actually checking us out over at Avistrum. However, I would ask you to please remember that this is a fanfiction, and the usual fanfiction disclaimers apply. This is an AU storyline; it you go up to one of the professors and ask about the dried flowers in Persephone's hair, they're going to look at you and ask you what the hell you're talking about, only they'll be much nicer about it. It's great to mention that you found out about it from me, or from a fanfic, but it might be best if you don't mention it by name too much. They work very hard on making everything great for us, and it just wouldn't be at all cool to ruin their story, the real story, by superceding it with mine. Thank you._

Chapter Nine: A New Target

"A wounded badger."

"No."

"A hungry hippogriff."

"No."

"A Crumple-Horned Snorcack."

"A what?"

Carriegan shrugged and leaned back on her wrists. "I dunno, some creature I read about in a tabloid."

"Then no."

Elowen stared at Carriegan and Cliona from where she stood in the doorway, blue eyes wide. "What the hell are ya'll talkin' about?"

Kushiel snickered, earning herself eye rolls from the conversers. "Carriegan is trying to find something that would be worse than spending Christmas with Aidan."

"And none too successfully," Raven added, smoothing back a frizzy coppery curl.

"Aidan's worse than a mama gator whose babies are threatened," Elowen snorted indelicately, coming fully into the room and spreading her books out on the floor.

The professors had politely asked the girls to move their homework parties to one of the unused classrooms due to the pouring rain; unable to go outside, students had crowded into the Great Hall and were creating all manner of noises. Fleeing gratefully from the mêlée, they had taken over the dusty classroom at the very end of the charms corridor. Aurelia and Carriegan had cleaned half the room between them, banishing the dust and spiders, though they both squealed a little at that, and they all helped rearrange the desks and transfigure them into comfy poufs. Sent by the Headmaster, one of the house elves brought them a vast array of snackable materials, and they dug in with pleasure.

""Frankly, I don't see why you're worrying about it, " Gwen admitted. "You said Aurelia's gonna play, right? So why bother trying to find a comparison?"

"Because it's entertaining." Cliona frowned and wrote out the final line of a multi-page Arithmantic equation. "Kush, what did you get for this?"

The redhead handed over her sheaf of papers and concentrated on her Care of Magical Creatures text. She sighed and stuck her tongue out at the book. "I can't believe we have to do a foot on each major type of dragon," she muttered. "That should count as cruel and unusual punishment."

"Oh, suck it up and get it done," Carriegan retorted heartlessly. "Then I can copy off of it."

"Tell you what, sweeting, go find a dictionary and look up fat chance."

Laughing, Raven floated her notes over to the metamorphmagus. "You can't copy my essay, but you can use my notes; they're almost in outline form as it is."

"Thanks, Raven."

"So, Aurel, what are you going to do first?"

"Throw him off," the blonde girl shrugged, nibbling absently on the end of one of her pigtails. She was concentrating unusually hard on her charms text, a more advanced one that she and Carriegan often worked out of in their private tutorials.

Silence reigned for a moment, and it was Elena who finally asked the obvious question. "How?"

"Oh, that. I haven't decided yet."

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However, it was quite clear that she'd made a decision by the time Aidan and Cúan showed up at school on Friday afternoon. She sat with the rest of the girls at the Fountain, but she'd quietly gone to each of them and told them to wear either their uniforms or something dark. Bemusedly, they'd agreed, and worn all black, so the shocking pink blur that was Aurelia stood out rather nicely.

Cúan nodded to them all with a slight smile, his green eyes dancing wickedly. "So, reception committee or lynch mob?" he quipped, and Carriegan smirked.

"I guess that depends on how well behaved the mutt is," she retorted humorously, accepting his hand in rising to her feet. "I don't see why you bothered to come, though, you certainly didn't do much towards restraining him last time."

"Well, maybe that's not why I'm here," he whispered against her ear, and she flushed prettily.

"Oh, really? Then why did you come?"

"To see Professor Aberfoyle, of course," he answered impishly, grazing her knuckles with his lips.

Cliona just rolled her eyes.

Her attention, however, was brought back front a second later by a shrill squeal from Aurelia, followed by a flash of pink as the blonde literally threw herself at Aidan. "Aidan!" She giggled, planting a strong kiss on the startled boy's lips. She ran a hand through his strawberry blonde curls, her cheek nestled against his. "It's so good to see you!"

"Yeh, she's a Parador," Kushiel muttered, and the others snorted.

"Well, we did want to make him freak," Raven murmured, and the girls quickly stifled laughter.

"Come on, Aidan!" Aurelia gushed, her blue eyes artlessly wide. "The Headmaster added fountains to the Great Hall since the last time you were here, come see them!" Tugging on his hand with a great deal more strength than anyone would have predicted, she pulled him past the assembled students and through the huge double doors.

Silence reigned for a full minute by the fountain, abruptly shattered by belly-aching laughter. Cúan wiped tears from the edges of his emerald eyes, Carriegan's hand still clutched in his. "You're unleashing the Twit on him?" he chortled. "Damn, Cli, I know he's bad, but he can't be that bad."

"You're right," she answered solemnly. "He's far worse. It's a testament to Aurelia's friendship that is willing to undergo this torment for me."

Surprisingly enough, Aurelia managed to keep the nuisance occupied for a full four hours while Cliona enjoyed a pleasant visit with her brother, bringing the alum back to the fountain at the prearranged time. His golden eyes were wide, as if he weren't entirely sure what was going on, and she handed him over to Cúan with a sweet smile and a peck on the cheek. "You'll come back soon, right?"

"Whatever," he muttered, still rather shell-shocked. Snickering wickedly, Cúan gave Cliona a quick hug and directed a wink towards Carriegan, heading off with his friend towards the gates.

The girl politely waited until he was out of earshot before they started laughing. Gwen doubled over , head on her knees and almost wheezing. "That was priceless!" she crowed.

"He won't be back for a while, that's for sure," Raven agreed, her face bright red.

"Wow, he was runnin faster than a chicken from Colonel Sanders," Elowen giggled.

All in all, they agreed, the mission was a definite success.

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"Fire-hair, don't you ever leave?" A snarky voice groused.

"Obviously not often enough for you, Bat-boy," Kushiel retorted calmly, not even bothering to look away from her Arithmancy homework. With the library slammed with first years finally understanding that yes, the professors actually did expect homework to be done, she had given up all pretense of using it as a refuge, and all studying not done in a homework party was done in the Headmaster's office. She had become such a fixture that she and Lysander barely even baited each other.

Much.

They did have certain reputations and traditions to maintain, after all.

"Nice to see you two are making friends," Clark noted dryly, and Kushiel flashed him a grin.

"Yes, rather like you and Professor Bloodthorne after all these years," she retorted impishly, and he groaned.

"That was rather low, don't you think?"

"What, you are friends now," she shrugged. "And there is nothing wrong with a little healthy competition between friends. You should see Carriegan and I get into it."

"What homework are you working on this time?" he asked, watching her go rather quickly through whatever it was.

"Arithmancy," she answered, her quill scratching a new line of the equation.

Surprised, he set down his own quill and studied her for a moment. "Really?" he queried finally. "Funny, I wouldn't have thought you studied that, given your father."

She sighed and scratched at her nose with the tip of the feather. "I think that was why I initially took it," she confessed. "I wanted to see if it would help me understand him any better."

"And did it?" Clark pressed carefully.

"No. Da had no idea how to communicate. And it's not like I was ever able to test the theory on discussing it with him."

"You'll be able to at your sister's wedding."

"Oh, joy."

Judging from her flat tone, he decided it would probably be best to just leave that particular conversation where it was.

Kushiel finished off the Arithmancy assignment, quickly checking over the five foot equation to make sure she hadn't accidentally left anything out, then set it aside in her backpack. She reached down into the drawer that contained all the reports on Persephone and Her minions and pulled out her notes. As it always did, her eyes fell on the yellow dried rose on the edge of her desk.

It was the key, she knew that now, she'd been proven right, so why did it still draw her attention? Shaking her head, she got down to the report in her hands, jotting down new tidbits about a wine connoisseur with a penchant for poison.

It could have been minutes or hours later that the Headmaster's voice startled her out of her focus. "Are you hungry?"

"What?" she asked, her green eyes flying up to meet his gaze.

"Are you hungry?" he repeated, smiling slightly. "You just worked straight through lunch."

"Oh." Briefly, she was glad it was Saturday, and she had the luxury of not being late for a class because of it. "I suppose I am, a little."

"Haddi."

She was about to ask him what he meant when the strange little house elf from Professor Aberfoyle's classroom popped into view next to the large desk. "Haddi help Master now?" It squeaked.

"Haddi, can you please bring up two leftover trays from lunch?"

Nodding so quickly that Kush was afraid its head was going to snap off its neck, the elf vanished.

"That is such a strange little elf," she murmured.

"I'm not going to disagree with that."

Kush frowned suddenly, staring down at the rose sketch that had once again found its way into the filing cabinet. "Why do you keep taking this?" she huffed, more than a little irritation seeping through her voice.

"Because you keep trying to hide it," he answered mildly, watching her scowl deepen. "If you wouldn't stop trying to hide it, I wouldn't feel obligated to find it and pull it out again."

"I hide it for a reason."

"A bad reason," he pointed out. "If you didn't skive off Arithmancy because your father's good at it, you don't have much of an excuse when it comes to sketching."

"I don't need an excuse, I have my determination."

He chuckled and beckoned to her lazily. "Come eat over here, there's not enough room on that thing with all your papers."

She eyed the slightly haphazard stacks of parchment scattered over his desk and suppressed a grin, setting the sketch on top of her desk by the dried rose. "I think Lysander is right; you never did grow up, did you?"

"Finally, someone agrees with me!" Lysander cried, and the redhead smirked.

"Don't get used to it, Bat-boy." She pushed her chair out and got to her feet, walking across the office to sink into the second chair just as Haddi reappeared with trays of food. His huge eyes flicked anxiously between the two desks, and he backed away, hitting the edge of Kush's small desk with the back of his head. "Thank you, Haddi," she told it gently.

With an embarrassed squeak, Haddi vanished.

"What a strange little elf," Kush said again, pouring two glasses of ice cold lemonade out of the pitcher on one of the trays. She handed it to him with a mocking toast before taking a sip. The weather was quickly turning cold outside the castle, but there was something rather nice about lemonade.

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"What's got the bee in their bonnet?" Elowen asked curiously, halting with the other girls outside the Great Hall. They could hear a scream coming from inside, along with several gasps and cries. As odd as Avistrum was sometimes, that was still a little out of the normal.

"Only one way we're going to find out," Gwen shrugged, pushing open the door.

They walked in and stopped short, eyes wide and bemused at the sight that greeted them. Headmaster Dowling perched on the edge of one of the tables, his feet planted on the bench, with three mummies standing in front of him, surrounded by a press of students. A second year Lobostro was backing quickly away from the tables, and they mentally placed wagers on her being the screamer.

"What's this?" Carriegan asked, narrowing her eyes slightly.

"Oh, Nim, he's been playing again," Kushiel groaned, rolling her eyes, and the girls snickered. Re-shouldering her backpack, the redhead led the way closer, gently making a path through the younger students until she could perch on the table next to the Headmaster. "So what's this?" she asked.

He grinned suddenly, making him look extremely boyish. "Professor Kobiyashi decided to decorate my office between classes today, so she left me one of her infamous boxes."

She raised one eyebrow in a delicate arch. "Didn't the last box she left you land you in the hospital wing?"

"Yup," he agreed cheerfully. "She got it much better this time, though. Anyway, my entire office was filled with sand, and then these fine fellows showed up. After talking with them a bit, I decided to bring them down here so you all could meet them."

Her gaze quirked to the three mummies, who were patiently allowing the students to run curious hands along their wrappings. "So what are their stories?"

"Well, as closely as they can tell, they all lived within about one hundred years of each other, under the rebel Pharaoh."

"Akhenaten?" Raven queried. "Cool!"

"Suten Anu was a Royal Scribe," Clark continued with a smiling nod, "and Akhom and Kahotep were laborers of some sort."

"Why are they active?" Carriegan wanted to know. "Shouldn't they be inanimate?"

Clark shook his head sadly. "Someone stole the amulets guarding their souls. Even if we were able to track down and restore the amulets, which is a long shot to say the least, we wouldn't be able to reverse the awakening; it's an extremely Dark spell."

"So how did Professor Kobiyashi-"

"She found them and brought them here, she did not awaken them," he answered sternly. "None of the professors here utilize any Dark spells, of any kind."

"It was just a question," the metamorphmagus sulked, her hair turning a deep red.

Kush held out her hand and gently stroked a line along the well-preserved linen wrappings. "Wow," she whispered. One of the mummies, Suten Anu, she guessed by the finer weave of his linen, turned covered eyes towards her and ran an equally curious hand across her hair. "Can thy actually feel?" she asked.

"They can feel, but they can't discern texture. They can tell when they're touching an object."

"That is too cool," Gwen breathed, getting closer.

Cliona heard the doors open again and turned to see who it was, and her heart leapt into her throat when she saw Callum standing there. Seeing her, he smiled sadly and sighed, heading back out.

The distant interaction had two observers, however, and Kushiel turned silently pleading eyes on the Headmaster. He met her gaze for a long moment, withstanding the puppy eyes for a surprisingly long amount of time, given her usual success with them on any authority figure, especially male, and shook his head. "Come on," he muttered, sliding to his feet. "I am going to leave them here with you for now," he told the assembled students. "Just remember to be gentle, please; they are over three thousand years old."

He began walking, one hand tucked into the pocket of his purple vest and the other reaching out to take Cliona by the arm. "Come with me, please, Miss McCullough."

Baffled, the werewolf fell in step beside her friend, shooting her a look. "It's okay," Kushiel mouthed, giving the Enigmus girl a thumbs up just in case her silent words hadn't come across. The trio passed Callum and Kush snaked out and grabbed his arm, keeping him on her left away from Cliona.

"What's going on?" he whispered in the Colubrae girl's ear.

"Just follow and see," she replied enigmatically.

The now-quartet came to a halt outside of Clark's office, the sphinx regarding them dispassionately. Clark turned and studied Cliona and Callum for a moment, Kush moving prudently out of the way. He barely repressed the urge to sigh again. "All right, you two. Against my better judgment, I am lifting the restriction, but so help me, Cliona, if your father has cause to say one single word I will keep the two of you chained at opposite ends of the castle, is that understood?"

Too stunned to speak, and honestly not daring to, they both nodded.

"Madamoiselle de Navarre, if you could please step inside my office." Kush nodded bemusedly and he followed her in.

The reunited pair stared at each even after the door closed, breath catching in their throats. Suddenly, Cliona hurled herself at the British apprentice and hugged him tightly, gratified beyond words to feel his arms holding her close against him. He pushed her gently against the wall, claiming her mouth in a burning kiss, then trailed a small path down her throat to the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder, biting it hard.

"I'm yours if you'll have me," he told her hoarsely, one blue eye and one grey eyes pounding into hers. "Will you be mine as well?"

"Oh, god, yes," she groaned, pulling his mouth back to hers.

From inside the office, Kush snickered and stepped away from the wall, leaving a slightly shell shocked Headmaster leaning against the wooden entry. "I'd say they're happy to be back together," she noted lightly, automatically heading over to her desk. Something was off about it, she realized, trying to figure out what.

"So why did you give me the puppy eyes?" he asked, coming up behind her. "After six years of being headmaster and two years before that of teaching, you'd think I'd be immune to them by now."

"I'm very good at puppy eyes," she answered absently, her eyes traveling over each piece of paper on the desk. "Besides, it's been in place for almost two months; surely they've done enough penance for one little hickey in the hay."

"Yes, but still, those damn puppy eyes," he grumbled. "What's got you so distracted all of a sudden?"

"Did you move the rose sketch?" she asked, the light bulb suddenly coming on.

"What?"

"The rose sketch. I left it right here on top of the desk yesterday, and now it's gone." She shifted some of the papers, looking for it with a furrow in her brow.

"Did you put it back in your pack?"

"No, I left it out because you were being such a prat about it." Her movements were starting to become slightly more frenzied now, and he gently pulled her away by her shoulders.

"Calm down," he instructed her lowly, and she looked up at him with surprise. "I'm sure it'll turn up, knowing the nature of my office. Who knows," he added, gesturing to the sleeping Lysander. "Maybe he had Renfield come down and borrow it so he could look at it. It'll turn up," he repeated, squeezing her shoulder.

She gazed doubtfully at the small brown mouse curled up in a softly snoring ball on top of the decapitated vampire's head. "I guess so," she murmured. She had a distinctly uneasy feeling about it, but perhaps that was simply her paranoia at anyone else seeing her sketches. She rubbed at her temples and sighed, sinking down into her chair.

"Kitten, you've been working really hard; why don't you get to bed early tonight, get some extra rest?" he suggested quietly. "You don't look like you've been sleeping all that well recently."

"Just the normal insomnia," she shrugged, closing her eyes.

"Why don't you get some potion from Nurse Kayenta? Not," he continued quickly, holding up his hand to forestall her protest, "on a regular basis, but just for tonight."

"I'd still really rather not," she replied politely. "I'm not much of a fan of sleeping potions. Not for myself, at any rate."

"Why not?"

"It's a long story," she answered dismissively, and he accepted the cue to not pursue it further. She would talk about in time, or not at all; he was learning that about her sensitive topics.

"Well, please get some rest. I would hate for you to end up in a detention for falling asleep in class," he told her with a twinkle in his dark brown eyes.

"That actually does sound rather good," she admitted, getting to her feet. "See you tomorrow, sir."

"Dream sweet, Kitten."

Nodding with a slight smile, she left the office and headed towards the Colubrae dorms located in the dungeon.

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Carriegan woke up to the sound of someone restlessly tossing and turning in the satin sheets under the comforters. She sank back into her down pillows, hoping it would pass in a moment, for whoever it was. Then she heard the whimpers and sighed. "Kush must be having another nightmare," she muttered, sliding out from under the warmth of the comforter and putting on her fuzzy slippers. She padded over to the other girl's bed and sure enough, the redhead was thrashing about restrainedly in the bed.

"Kush," Carriegan hissed. "Wake up!" When the girl didn't wake, she reached out and shook her hard. Carriegan hadn't been at all kidding when she'd told Callum she was only pleasant after her first cup of coffee, and she did not take at all well to being woken up. It was when Kushiel still didn't waken that she began to get worried; that wasn't normal. She grabbed her wand and whispered "Lumos" to bathe the area in a very weak light.

A fine sheen of sweat glistened on the Irish girl's skin, her knuckles white around her deathgrip on the dayglo neon orange frog she'd had since she was a small child. Air passed through her lungs in breathy little gasps, not at all like the deep breaths of sleep. Carriegan was no healer, but she knew one thing very clearly; if you shook people, they were supposed to awaken.

The metamorphmagus threw on her dressing gown, not even bothering to belt it, and raced out of the dorms. She passed the Headmaster's office, but there was no light coming out from under the door, not that she'd really expected there to be at four in the morning. She flew into the infirmary, but with no one sick or injured, there was no one on shift.

"Dammit!"

Looking around, she spotted some Floo powder and conjured a fire in the fireplace, throwing in the powder. When the flames turned green she barked out "Nurse Kayenta" and stuck her head through.

The good woman stumbled towards the hearth when she heard the student calling anxiously. "Carriegan?" she murmured sleepily. "Is something wrong?"

"Kush is having a nightmare of some kind, only she isn't waking up from it," the seventh year reported. "I can't wake her up, and normally I can."

"Go back to the dorm, and I'll be there in just a moment," she told the student, wide awake now. She quickly threw her robes on over her nightgown and grabbed her emergency bag from under the bed, heading through the floo after redirecting it to the Colubrae common room. She entered the seventh years room, and by now, Kushiel's whimpers had turned to pathetic throaty cries, her subconscious automatically trying to muffle them. The other girls in the dorm sat anxiously on the edges of their beds, clearly relieved to see the nurse walk in the door.

Robin set her bag on the nightstand and sat on the side of the mattress, reaching out to lay her head against Kushiel's forehead. Sweaty, yes, and flushed, but no fever. Murmuring a small plea for forgiveness, she brought her hand back and slapped the girl across the face, hoping it would do what a shake couldn't. No such luck. She poured a Pepper-Up potion down the Colubrae's mouth, massaging her throat to force it down. Except for the steam pouring from her ears as she thrashed on the dark green sheets, there was no change.

"Nika!" Robin said sharply, and a house elf with a large red cross on her tea towel appeared next to her side. "Go get the Headmaster, Professor Bloodthorne, and Professor Lupin and bring them here at once."

"You think Dark Magic of some sort?" Sabina asked quietly, the candle casting moving shadows across her face.

"I cannot wake her, that certainly indicates that something is wrong," she allowed. To pass the time until the professors got there, she cast a simple enervate, figuring it was worth a try. It did nothing.

Nearly ten minutes later, the three professors came rushing in, Clark and Kraven with robes thrown on over sleep pants and Remus in his infamous and never-dying pajamas. Sabina and Carriegan, who had come in before them, snorted but otherwise made no comment. "What's wrong?" Clark asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Robin gestured to the unaware girl. "I can't wake her up," she answered.

Pulling out his wand, Remus performed a quick diagnostic, frowning at the results he got. "Something has her mind, but the initial contact had to be by touch, so whatever it is can't be that far away."

"Can you see what it is?" Clark asked tensely, gritting his teeth against the pathetic sight.

Remus shook his head. "The spell isn't that advanced."

"You've tried everything to wake her up?" Professor Bloodthorne inquired.

"No, Kraven, I just sat back and called you first," she sighed, and the Divinations professor scowled.

"Carriegan, does this one seem worse than her usual ones?" he inquired, and the metamorphmagus nodded.

"She's never this loud, and she's usually really easy to wake up if she doesn't wake up on her own. Actually, it's probably only once or twice a month that I get woken up by them, she normally catches herself."

"As in she has nightmares all the time?" the Headmaster demanded, stunned.

"Well, yeah," Carriegan answered, as if it should be obvious. "She always has."

Feeling more than a little irritated that that fact had never come up in their discussions, Clark forced his attention back to the immediate problem. Unable to look at the trapped girl, he focused to the left on her, to the nightstand where Robin's bag sat. It was what was just beyond the bag that caught his eye, though. Walking round the side of the bed, he shifted aside the medical bag and stared at the dried russet rose lying on a sketch. He picked up the rose, cradling it gently in his hand, and turned over the sketch to look at it.

His blood ran cold at the perfect representation of Kushiel. It was against a garish background, to be sure, in colors that would make the blind cringe, but nothing with the image of the girl could be faulted. "The painter," he whispered in horror. "The painter has been here."

None of the students in the room had any idea what he was talking about, but the adults certainly did, and they all looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?" Kraven asked instantly.

Clark wordless handed over the sketch and Kraven's eyes narrowed. "So he was here in the school."

"Why Kushiel?" Robin queried softly.

"She figured it out, about Her," he answered in a low voice, barely loud enough to be heard by the faculty clustered around him. "I told you I thought there was someone inside the school passing along information, otherwise how would she know in advance whenever we plan a raid. Whoever it is must have found out about Kush working on the research."

"That doesn't answer the question of how to wake her up," her Head of House hissed, paling.

Remus silently took the sketch in hand and ran his wand over it, checking the connections between it and the girl. They were there, sure enough, but not strong enough to keep her asleep and dreaming despite the potions. "It isn't the picture," he supplied lowly. "It's got an influence, but not enough."

"So how do we wake her up?" Kraven demanded again.

Clark didn't hear him; instead, he took Robin's place on the edge of the bed and reached out to take Kushiel's hand in his, the one that wasn't clutching the absurd frog. "Come on, Kitten," he murmured. "You need to wake up now."

Remus regarded the pair with narrowed eyes, the wolf in him reading signs that they probably didn't even know were there. He tried to remember something Ginny had told him about Harry's nightmares after the war. Ginny and Remus had eventually come to terms with their nightmares, and finally beaten them, through sheer force of will, but Harry had needed extra help, the horror being too much. The magic that had seeped through the scar when he was a year old continued to haunt him with the war, and Hermione had discovered that a simple calming charm would usually bring him out of it just enough where he could be woken up by the normal drastic means. "Carriegan, is Kushiel prone to panic attacks?" he inquired politely.

"Prone?" Carriegan echoed thoughtfully. "I wouldn't say she was prone to them, but she has them occasionally. Why?"

"Clark, how are your calming charms?" he said instead.

"What?"

"Try it."

Slightly confused, and not alone in that sentiment, he groped for his wand in the pocket of his robes and gently laid it against the inside of the non-frog-encumbered hand of the girl. The tip glowed blue for a moment with the incantation, before disappating into her skin. Her grip on both frog and human relaxed slightly.

"Try waking her up now," Remus instructed.

Oblivious to the eyes of everyone in the room, Clark leaned forward and softly kissed her forehead, as his mother had once done to him when he'd had a nightmare. "It's time to wake up, Kush," he murmured in her ear. "Come on, Kitten, listen to me and wake up."

Nothing happened, and Carriegan rolled her eyes. You didn't wake up from nightmares with a gentle whisper. She pulled her wand back out of the dressing gown pocket and thought for a moment about what she wanted to do, then sent a freezing deluge over the dreaming girl, drying it as soon as it hit the sheets and covers.

Clark flinched back and was about to snap something when a groan met his ears. He turned back to Kush and saw her eyelids fluttering. "Come on, Kitten, come on," he muttered almost inadubily.

"Kushiel de Navarre, wake up this instant!" Kraven snapped, and she shot into a sitting position, eyes wide and gasping for breath. Clark caught her before she pitched forward entirely, and she struggled blindly against him.

"Kush, it's just me, it's Headmaster Dowling," he said loudly in her ear, and she slowly calmed. She turned to him with haunted eyes, tears streaming from her eyes as her entire body began to shake. "What did you dream, Kitten?" he asked softly.

Shaking her head, she collapsed into the safety of his arms and sobbed, even with everyone looking on. He held her tightly, hand rubbing soothing circles on her back and whispering assuring sounds, rocking her slightly as she wept. His gaze fell on the sketch and rose in Remus' hands and hardened, the eye of Horus blazing briefly around his right eye.


	10. Double Meanings

**Dislcaimer: Still not mine. Yeh, I know right? That totally sucks!**

_A/N: You know, if you review, I'll love you forever._

_A/N2: I have to honestly say I can't completely claim the color conversation, only Kush's part of it. This was an honest-to-God conversation Cliona and I had at the Student Tables, and seeing a place to add it in only made it even more perfect._

Chapter Ten: Double Meanings

Robin reached out and gently touched the Headmaster's shoulder to gain his attention. "Clark, we should get her to the infirmary. The others need to go back to sleep."

Nodding, the Headmaster scooped up the weeping girl, frog and all, and cradled her in his arms, rising to his feet. He led the way out of the dorms, followed by Remus and Robin. Kraven caught up to them a moment later after giving his students some stern instructions about discretion. Upon reaching the hospital wing, Clark settled down onto one of the beds, Kushiel still clinging to him, although her quakes had stopped. "A little better now?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head and sniffled, barely keeping herself from resorting to her childhood habit of wiping her nose on her sleeve. Robin handed her a Kleenex and she mopped her face and nose with it, dropping it in the wastebasket by the bed. The tears continued to stream down her face, but her breathing was slowly calming.

"Kushiel, what happened?" Kraven Bloodthorne asked quietly, leaning against the windowsill.

"I don't know," she whispered, clutching the neon orange stuffed frog. "I…I fell asleep, and then I was dreaming."

"What were you dreaming, Kush?" he pressed patiently.

She stared up at him with haunted eyes, a lost little girl in place of the confident, poised young woman they always saw. She shook her head mutely.

"Kushiel, we have to know," Remus told her gently.

The girl shook her head again and tightened her grip so on the frog that Robin feared it's eyes would pop out.

Robin brushed a wisp of light brown hair out of her face and took Kraven and Remus by the elbows. "A moment," she instructed lowly, drawing them away to leave Clark and Kushiel alone at the bed.

The Headmaster pulled a fresh handkerchief from an inner pocket of his robes and handed it to her, letting her wipe her face. He waited until she loosened the stranglehold on the amphibian and began worrying the embroidered linen in her hands to hold out the portrait from her nightstand. Her emerald eyes widened, but she said nothing. "This is why we have to know, Kitten," he said. "This means he was there."

Reaching out, Kush took the sketch and ran her fingers lightly over it. The red hair that clung to her in damp, frizzy curls now, splayed gently around her on the pillow in the image, her eyelashes brushing against her cheek.

"Kitten…"

"Is there a Pensieve I could use?" she asked him, voice all nearly inaudible. "I don't think I could…I don't want to try and say it," she managed, hands trembling. "I'll save such bravery for a Parador," she added shakily, with the ghost of a smirk.

He stroked his hand up and down her arm, warming away some of the goosebumps. "Robin," he called. "Do you have a Pensieve in here?"

Nodding thoughtfully, the woman pulled her wand from her emergency bag and tapped it in a complicated pattern against a locked cabinet. The doors swung open after a moment's hesitation and she pulled out a heavy empty bowl, the silver carefully engraven with the runes of the spell that allowed the thoughts to be held and viewed. Robin set it down on the table by the bed and turned to regard the girl. "You know how to use one?"

The redhead nodded and looked down at her hands. "Can I borrow someone's wand, please?" she asked minutely. "I think mine's probably still under my pillow."

"Nika." The house-elf she'd called earlier appeared at the nurse's side. "Can you please fetch Kushiel's wand from under her pillow?"

The elf nodded and disappeared.

In the interim, Clark finally took a good look at the stuffed animal the seventh year was clutching. "So that's the absurdly orange frog Robin mentioned before?"

"I mentioned no such thing!" The mediwitch retorted indignantly.

"Oh, this was quite some time ago," he argued blithely. "When you frog-marched her out of the infirmary just before school started."

Kushiel smiled slightly, a little bit of the color coming back into her face. "This is Nicolas la Grenouille," she introduced, petting the frog's head absently. "I've had him for as long as I can remember."

"Before you begin, Kushiel," Kraven mentioned, nodding his head towards the Pensieve, "would you like me to owl your mother?"

"No, sir," she answered lowly. "I'll tell her myself in my own way."

"And in your own time?" Clark muttered dryly.

"Sir?"

"Why didn't you tell me about your other nightmares?"

Her brows drew together in a puzzled frown. "Sir, I've had nightmares all my life. I don't exactly make a habit of it to flaunt them before people asking for sympathy."

Clark was saved from having to come up with a response by Nika reappearing with Kushiel's wand. He rose to his feet and walked some few beds away with the others, leaving her with some space to withdraw her memories of the nightmare. His dark brown eyes remained on her, however, as she slowly pulled the spidery silver strands from her temple. "The three of us will need to go in, obviously. Robin, can you stay with her, keep her calm?" he asked lowly.

"Clark, we'll need her to go in with us," Kraven disagreed quietly, flicking his gaze over to the redhead who cradled the bowl. He watched her take deep breaths, her eyes closed against the wait.

"No," the Headmaster immediately refused.

"Her dreams aren't going to mean the same things to us as they did to her," the Divinations professor explained shortly. "We need to know why it was so frightening, not just what she saw."

"Then we can ask her when we get out of the memories."

"Not and have it make any degree of sense," he snapped. He ran a hand over his face, smoothing his neatly trimmed goatee. "Clark, this is my territory, and we need her immediate input."

"The purpose of the Pensieve was so that she didn't have to relive it."

"And we would have had to ask her questions anyway," Kraven argued hotly. "The painter has been inside the school, Clark! Do not let your personal feelings for the girl put her discomfort over the safety of every single person in this school!" He took a deep breath against the building fury and met the younger man's eyes firmly. The Headmaster's face was shocked, and there was a reply formulating, but Kraven didn't give it a chance to come out. "I'm not questioning what those feelings are, Clark, they may simply be the protective affection that masters have for their apprentices, but Kushiel is a strong girl. She's had a fright, but she'll come through it. In the meantime, however, we have to know, and the only way to know everything we need to know is to bring her with us."

Remus, who had been silent through the exchange, now spoke, his hazel eyes thoughtful. "I have to agree, Headmaster. Besides, if we cast a diagnostic spell before we go in, we'll be able to hopefully see where the connection is coming from and erase it. We can't do that if she's not in the dream with us."

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Clark ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair. "Her choice," he said finally, almost daring them to refute him. "We ask her, she decides, and we abide by that choice."

Remus laid a hand warningly on Bloodthorne's shoulder when he would have protested. Remus watched people, he always had, and it generally gave him an insight that others lacked. Given the proper explanation, he had no doubt that the Colubrae would understand the necessity of it.

Shaking her head, Robin rolled her eyes and headed over to the supply cabinet for an Anti-Nausea potion, figuring it would be a good precaution for coming out of the Pensieve. Clark and Kraven had been rivals in school, and there were times when she felt they argued more for the sake of the still-existing rivalry than for any better reason. She handed Kushiel one of the vials and received a raised eyebrow in reply. "Just in case," she assured, and the girl nodded and downed the mixture in one swallow.

The three men came back over, their faces grave, and Kraven spoke before Clark could. "Kush, we have to ask you to come in with us."

She paled, but knowing her head of house, simply waited for the rest of the explanation.

"Why do prophetic dreams require such strenuous interviews before they're officially recorded?" he asked, automatically slipping into lecture mode.

"Because the events of the dream won't necessarily mean anything to anyone else, or at least not the same thing," she answered calmly, resignation creeping into the slump of her shoulders. "What is frightening or true is what resonates within the soul and mind, and events don't carry the same frequency from person to person. In order to determine, in this case, why the nightmare was so horrific, we have to be able to see my direct reactions to it, with what I see, hear, feel, and with what resonates within me."

Clark groaned and didn't even bother to present the argument he'd been mentally preparing.

Kushiel eyed the extra vials in Nurse Kayenta's hand. "Those might come in handy," she agreed ruefully. "There are parts…"

The professors took the vials and drank them down, setting the bottles on the nightstand. "Are you ready?" Clark asked quietly.

She nodded and set the heavy silver bowl in the cradle of her lap. "As I'll ever be," she answered dryly. "There were several dreams," she continued. "They kind of wove through a little bit, so how do we make sure we all end up in the same place?"

"We'll let you lead the entrance," Remus told her. "Just think about which one you want to enter first." He reached out and laid his pale hand against hers, hovering over ther silver essence. The other two mirrored his gesture a moment later, and Kushiel took a deep breath, sinking her hand down into the swirling mass. As it spilled over their fingers, the infirmary shifted around them, melting into garish colors that hurt the eye.

_Clark looked around him with narrowed eyes, his stomach roiling with the chaos of colors. "Where are we?" he queried._

_"We're where I started," she shrugged, her bare feet sliding across the smooth floor. There was no definition to the space. Walls and ceiling, a floor, yes, but the sense of limited expanse was absent. For all that they could see the boundaries, the stewing mass of color constantly shifting about around them kept them from feeling contained. Kushiel looked into the center of the room where her dream self appeared. "It's always a little disconcerting to see yourself," she noted absently. "You never appear quite the way you think you do."_

_Remus looked between the two Kushiels, one appearing solid and bright, looking about her curiously, the other slightly faded and silvered, eying her golem with a jaundiced eye. "What is the necklace you're wearing?" he asked, pointing around the dream-self's neck._

_"My legacy locket," she answered. "It was given to me when I was born; I never used to wear anything but that."_

_"I don't think I've ever seen you wear it," Kraven observed, frowning slightly. _

_"The clasp on it broke when I was eleven. Da was going to take it to get it fixed, but then he vanished, and we think he took it with him."_

_"What exactly is a legacy locket, anyway?" _

_Kushiel glanced over at the Headmaster. "It's a locket given to each member of my family when we're born, and it's infused with a protection from all of our ancestors. Inscribed on the back is the first thing we hear coming into the world: On n'est jamais seule."_

_"One is never alone," Remus translated, smiling. "I like it."_

_"Yes, well, I'm alone now," she snorted. "It took me forever to get used to sleeping without feeling it around my neck." She felt a hand smoothing large circles on her back and looked over her shoulder to see the Headmaster standing close. _

_"You're not alone as long as you've got friends, Kush," he told her softly. _

_She merely shrugged and focused on her other self. _

"The door is opening,"_ a voice whispered through the space, sending chills down their spines. _

"What?"_ The other Kushiel whipped her head around, trying to find the source of the voice. _

"What will you see?"_ The voice asked, echoing across itself, slurring the words into haunting babble. _"When the door opens, what will you see?"

"Who's there?"_ she demanded harshly, one hand rising automatically to clutch the circular locket around her neck. _

_On the far side of the space, a silver and grey door hazed into being, the black handles gleaming. _

"What will you see?"

_Hesitantly, the other Kushiel slowly walked forward, her right hand groping for a wand that wasn't there. She stood in front of the doors for a long moment, then reached out and ran a fingertip along the onyx handle. It creaked open, and a sharp wind blasted around her. She threw an arm up to shield her eyes, as did the others. _

_When the wind died down, they found themselves in a churned up field. Bodies lay scattered about, blood cooling in steaming pools. The sky retained its chaotic clash of colors. Kraven was inwardly amazed at the amount of detail the dream held; he could even smell the sharp, sickly sweet scent of pine from the forest stretching down the neighboring hills. The stench of blood seeped through his nose, leaving a tangy, coppery taste on his tongue. He looked around him, trying to determine the source of the blood and bodies, and nearly gagged._

_All the bodies belonged to children. He watched the dream Kushiel frown in confusion, kneeling down next to a little girl whose blonde hair spilled out around her, staining rusty brown as the blood dried. "What is going on through your head there?" he asked, choking on the words. It made him feel slightly better to see Remus and Clark working their jaws against the nausea._

_"Mostly confusion," she answered lowly. "I didn't really know what was going on."_

_They watched the dream Kushiel cock her head as if listening to something, and the visiting girl raised her eyebrows. "Interesting," she noted. "Apparently the Pensieve only shows what an observer would see; I thought it would be more holistic than that."_

_"What is it you're hearing?"_

_"It's hard to put into words," she admitted. "It wasn't words so much as thought. But, it was sickening, really."_

_"Kush," Kraven warned darkly. "Uncomfortable as it may be, don't avoid the question. This isn't one of your games of truth or truth." She looked at him with surprise and he smiled grimly. "I'm head of house, Kush, do you honestly think the portraits don't tell me what goes on?"_

_"That must have been the first game then," she decided. "We learned to do Confundus charms on the portraits after that."_

_"Kush…"_

_She sighed and turned away, pushing a red curl back behind her ear. "It was whispering to me about what an incredible sketch this would make. It's horrible, yes, but there's something strangely beautiful about it, too. There's a grace to the brutality that tempers it. If I couldn't smell the blood, I could almost imagine they were posing for something."_

_The dream Kushiel grimaced in revulsion and shot to her feet, almost stumbling over the body of a wide eyed and staring little boy. _

_"What was that?"_

_"The voice told me that beauty arises from the dregs of violence," she whispered. "It's so obvious, now, that it had to be the painter, but I didn't see it then."_

_"That's part of the nature of dreams," Kraven soothed, still looking around him, trying not gaze too long at the dead children. _

_The wind screamed around them again, tugging at robes and hair. The scene shattered into crystals that lashed at their skin. It swirled around them, rain slicing and stinging as thunder rumbled through their feet. The dream girl closed her eyes and leaned into the storm, a small smile lighting up her face. The same listening expression came over her face and she shuddered, sinking into herself._

_"I've always loved storms," the visitor said quietly, wrapping her arms about her and holding herself tightly. "I know they're violent, I know things get damaged and people get hurt, but they're so incredible. They're a genuine force of nature."_

_Remembering a storm ten years before, Remus smiled slightly, understanding the kinship his wife felt with the normally impish young woman. _

_"And what was the painter telling you?"_

_"That I take glory in destruction," she whispered. She was getting progressively pale, drowned by the deep color of her hair. _

"I wouldn't ever cause it!" _the dream Kushiel yelled suddenly._

_"But would you cease it?" the one beside the Headmaster murmured._

_"What?"_

_"That was his reply, inside my head."_

_The wind brought with it a flurry of color, and they all turned to watch it approach. "There's more?" Kraven asked warily._

_"Much more."_

Robin was beginning to worry; they'd been within the Pensieve for more than an hour. She paced beside the bed, worrying the lobe of her ear. A sudden noise behind her caused her to flinch and she spun around to find the four memory-travelers in a heap on the floor.

Kushiel curled into a tight ball and hid her face against her knees, her hair falling in disarrayed curls around her.

The nurse took one look at her returned colleagues and went to fetch more Anti-Nausea potion, watching them gulp it down gratefully. "That bad?" she asked anxiously.

"Worse," Kraven grunted, watching Clark pull the silent girl against his chest comfortingly. "He is one sick bastard."

"What did he do?"

"He compared me to Persephone," came the muffled reply from the student. "He said I saw the same beauty she did in things the rest of the world despises. That I could not hate that which I in fact was."

"Did you find a connection?"

"Not one we could trace to a source," Remus answered wearily, pushing his mostly grey hair out of his care-worn face. "Until we can understand how he's making this connection, there's nothing we can do to remove it."

"You were gone so long," the steady woman whispered fearfully.

"It was much longer than any dream ever ought to be," Bloodthorne agreed ruefully. "Kush, how long were you dreaming before Carriegan came to fetch us?"

"How in the name of Nim would I be able to answer that?" she laughed humorlessly.

"I still don't understand why her, though," Robin stated, perching on the edge of a bed. "Why Kush? It has to be more than simply her research."

"It is," Clark answered lowly. "It's her entire perspective."

"What do you mean?"

"It seems as though Kush here might be the victim of a recruitment attempt," Kraven elaborated. "Persephone sees beauty in things that normal people see as disgusting or faded. Kush sees some of those same things, as well, beauty in the midst of a storm. Perhaps they think she'll prove sympathetic because of that, but her knowledge of the school and of us as the Dark Hunters could prove very useful to them if they were somehow able to court her over to their side."

"Court her," Robin echoed incredulously. "By scaring her half to death?"

"He doesn't realize it's frightening," Kushiel interjected, her voice thick with choking tears. She lifted her head, and the nurse could see that the lost, haunted look had returned. Wordlessly, she handed the girl Nicolas la Grenouille, watching her squeeze the crap out of it. "He only sees the beauty. He doesn't understand why something as beautiful as a hand falling in a graceful arc can be so horrifying when you look at everything around it." She angrily dashed a hand across her cheeks, trying to get rid of the tears.

"Kraven, Remus, I'd like to meet with you two later today, so we can talk about this. For now, I'd suggest you get some rest."

Kraven looked at Clark thoughtfully for a moment, then at Kushiel, before his gaze shifted back to the hard-eyed Headmaster. He nodded and left the infirmary, Remus following behind.

"Clark?"

"Go ahead, Robin, I'll stay with her," he answered the unspoken question.

She wasn't entirely sure that it was appropriate, but she simply nodded and left the room, closing the doors quietly behind her.

Clark scooped the young woman trying so hard not to cry into his arms and rose to his feet, moving her to the bed. "Just let it go, Kitten."

She shook her head, her entire body quaking in his grasp.

Gently forcing her to uncurl from her ball, he pulled her even closer against him, wrapping his robes about her to coax some warmth back into her clammy skin. "It's all right, Kitten," he murmured against her hair. "It's done, the nightmare's done."

"What if it comes back? What if he keeps coming back?"

"We won't let him."

"I'm not five, sir, it's not that easy anymore."

Without thinking, he kissed her temple softly, his lips lingering against the soft skin. "I didn't say it was," he said simply.

She shuddered violently and broke down again, her tears soaking through his thin shirt as she clung to him.

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"Sir?" Carriegan asked in confusion, looking up at her head of house. "Are we in trouble?"

"Simply go to the Headmaster's office, Carriegan, he will explain," Kraven Bloodthorne snapped wearily. He was bone tired; his dreams after leaving the infirmary had been riddled with echoes of Kushiel's nightmare, and he had woken up heavy-headed.

Watching the Divinations professor walk away, Carriegan frowned and turned towards Aurelia and Cliona. "Shall we then?"

"I guess so," Cliona murmured, rising to her feet. The trio left the Great Hall and walked quickly to the Headmaster's office, scrutinized by the stone sphinx. She and the others had been filled in by Carriegan and Sabina on the events of the night, quietly during the tumult of breakfast, and they couldn't think of anything else it might be pertaining to. The door opened and they headed in, finding themselves across the desk from a hard and weary Headmaster.

"Sit, please," he told them, gesturing to the chairs. He conjured a third one and watched them sit uneasily. "I'm guessing you know why you're here?"

"Is Kush okay?" Aurelia asked, uncommonly grave.

"And that would be one of the reasons you're here," he answered wryly. "Carriegan, I believe Professor Bloodthorne gave you all a talk on being discrete about all this?"

"Discrete is not telling people who don't need to know," she refuted glibly. "Need-to-know counterweights discrete, and we were careful to make sure no one overheard us."

"Yes, but did you think perhaps that Kushiel might not want all of the group to know? That perhaps she wanted to keep it as quiet as possible?"

"Sir?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Kushiel is fine," he responded to Aurelia's original question. "She's shaken, and we're going to keep her in the infirmary for a few days for observation, but you can go visit her if you'd like. Just please don't mention anything that went on."

"What if she needs to talk about it, sir?" Cliona asked quietly.

"Then she can mention it; I do not want to hear of any of you doing so."

Cliona nodded thoughtfully, smiling inwardly. If proof was needed that the Headmaster felt more than student-teacher towards her friend, this was certainly it. "Yes, sir," she said simply.

"Sir, what was so important about the sketch by her bed?" Carriegan inquired, but he simply shook his head.

"That's not important for you to know, Carriegan, and no questions about it. It doesn't concern the students."

Purple eyes narrowed, but she nodded. Carriegan was nothing if not curious, and being told not to ask any questions simply made the questions burn more deeply.

"Will the nightmares continue?" Cliona inquired.

"I don't know," he admitted heavily. "If you want to go see her, Nurse Kayenta says she's still awake."

Recognizing their dismissal, the three girls stood up and left the office, heading towards the infirmary to visit their friend. They were met at the door by Callum, who regarded them with solemn eyes.

"This could be an interesting couple of days," he noted, kissing Cliona in greeting. "She's determined not to go to sleep."

"What?"

"They can't determine the exact cause of the nightmares," he told them quietly. "So she's decided that she's simply not going to go to sleep until they do."

"That can't be healthy."

Callum smiled slightly and stepped aside to let them in, his hand automatically twining through Cliona's.

The redhead looked up at the sound of their footsteps and smiled, waving at them cheerily. "Good morning," she called across the room. "Come to join the sick and the dead?"

"No, just visiting the inexcusably lazy," Carriegan retorted cheekily, perching on the edge of the bed. "You're obviously feeling better."

"Mmm, much," Kushiel answered, carefully smudging a line of her sketch. "Hospital food, nummy."

Callum groaned. "We are not giving you hospital food, you got the same thing as everyone else this morning."

"Yes, but it's not really a stay in the hospital wing if you're not complaining about hospital food. It doesn't matter whether you've actually had it or not," she explained matter-of-factly, and he rolled his eyes.

"You're too much."

"And you're only just now realizing this?"

"So you're planning on staying awake for how long?" Cliona asked, settling herself in Callum's lap on the next bed over.

"For as long as it takes," she answered seriously. "I'm not allowed to tell you guys most of it, but it was bad," she continued, her emerald eyes darkening in memory. "I don't want to take a chance on having any repeats of it."

"We'll help," Aurelia announced cheerfully. "We can play truth or truth, and talk about boys, and have cookies, and just have a big old slumber party for as long as it takes!"

With the laughter that followed, the tension eased, and Nurse Kayenta smiled from her desk. Laughter was truly a most wondrous medicine.

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Clark eyed the redhead from where he stood, leaning against the edge of Robin's desk. Alongside him were Remus, Robin, Ginny, and the other Dark Hunters. They'd been going over the dream for days, unable to make any headway into the events, other than a message of some kind of recruitment. Somehow, with the aid of her friends, the redhead had stayed awake for two straight days, and it was starting to show.

Cliona lounged on the bed one over from her friend, Callum's arm around her waist and holding her close. Her eyes were closed, almost on the verge of falling asleep. Kush's voice pulled her out of the dreamy reverie.

"So, if Blue, Green, and Red all got in a war, would Yellow still be a rat bastard?"

The Enigmus girl opened her eyes and turned her head to regard the redhead bemusedly. She blinked owlishly. "Um….I'd say yes?" She quirked a brow in confusion.

Kushiel flipped a page in her sketch pad and began a new drawing. "So if Yellow is a rat bastard, does Green marry Black or Purple? And is it Purple or Black that's out for the money?"

"Green would have to marry Purple," she answered matter-of-factly. "They're the school colors." She thought for a moment, then nodded decisively. "Obviously, Black is the one who's out for the money. Black's too goth to be otherwise."

"But Black was so sweet to Orange, before Orange ran off with Red and broke Black's heart," she argued. "And, Orange was penniless." She leaned over the space between the two beds and lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper. "Personally, I think Orange and Red were a mistake, they clash horribly."

Cliona nodded seriously. "Orange and Red are a no, no." She tugged thoughtfully at a lock of wavy brown hair. "Black may have been sweet to Orange, but Orange was the love of Black's life. Now with a broken heart, Black is just in search of stability, also known as money."

Callum leaned down to murmur in Cliona's ear. "What the hell?"

"True," Kushiel conceded, nibbling her lower lip thoughtfully. "Maybe we could set Black up with Silver. Silver's fairly well off, and not looking for too much romantically. Love could bloom, and then Green would have Black's cleverness without being trapped in a loveless, money seeking marriage, because Green and Silver are allies, and Black and Purple are still good friends."

"That sounds like a good plan," Cliona agreed. "Black and Silver would go very well together."

"What about Gold and White, though?" Kushiel brought up. "They're trouble makers, and Yellow is just a pale shadow to the malevolence of Gold. What if they team up with Red? Green's good, and Blue's fairly decent as far things go, but Red's a downright cad. White might be happy with Blue, White's pretty laid back, but Gold needs to be kept a careful eye on."

"Oh, Blue and White have to go together!" she cried. "Enigmus colors and all that." She bit her lip uncertainly. "I'm not too sure what to do about the others, though."

"Well," the Colubrae drawled thoughtfully, scraping her pencil against the rough paper. "Maybe Blue and Green could ally themselves against Red, and trick Gold into helping them bring down the Evil Regime. Then, when they've got everything settled, they could kick Gold to the curb for all the Evil Misdeeds. Then again, Purple is so soft-hearted; Purple might not let them do that."

Cliona blinked, the train of thought escaping her. "…mrmph…" she snorted, fighting against the fit of giggles threatening to take her over.

Kushiel glanced at her friend from the corner of her eye, her mouth twitching in a smirk. "…mrmph…" She covered her hands to keep the snickers at bay. "Mrmph!

Cliona started laughing so hard she would have fallen had it not been for Callum's arm around her waist. Her head sank down into her arms onto the mattress, her shoulders shaking.

"We could have Sepia play the wedding marches," Kush giggled. "And…mrmph!...Beige and Lime could draw up the alliance contracts."

"Think Pink!" Cliona cried, completely losing it.

"Oh, no!" Kushiel protested without thinking about it. "Keep Pink away from Red and Purple! None of them have forgotten or forgiven that episode in Vegas, and that could throw everything back into chaos!"

"But, but they worked so well together," she gasped, trying to catch her breath. "All three of them!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Callum exploded, staring at the both of them.

"What is something we said?" Kushiel asked, all trace of the laughter gone from her innocently puzzled voice.

"Was it the maniacal laughter?"

"It must have been the intricacies of intercolor politics," the redhead decided. "It can be very confusing to the casual observer."

"Well, someone needs a trip to the Crayola Factory," Cliona teased, kissing Callum's chin.

"Yes, and he could make friends with Professor Yellow Crayon, because Professor Red Crayon is spoken for."

"You should both be in those little white straight-jackets," he pronounced.

"Oh, no, White doesn't like jackets," Kushiel told him solemnly. "White would probably appreciate the thought of a gift, but cards and gift certificates tend to be much preferred."

Cliona nodded. "Yes. White's greedy like that."

"Well…" the other girl wobbled her hand indecisively. "Not so much greedy as refined. White was very richly brought up, and poverty's a somewhat foreign concept. White is used to having a certain elegance and luxury in everything. Now, Blue-Green?" she continued. "There's a greedy color, can't decide which side of the family to acknowledge. That one's after everything it can get."

Callum gave up and sank down into the mattresses, shaking his head. "You two are nucking futs," he muttered.

Kraven turned to Clark, one eyebrow raised. "Can we just drug her?" he demanded dryly. "I think I just lost several IQ points."

Ginny Lupin leaned against her husband, her face red with smothered laughter. "Oh, that was wondrous," she gasped. "Oh, that was fantastic."

"Rather reminds me of you and Hermione," Remus agreed, chuckling. "Something that no one else in the world understands."

"I understood it," Ginny protested indignantly. "What isn't to understand?"

"All of it?" Polonius suggested with a smile.

"Wait till your daughter has her first sleepover," she advised. "You learn to translate."

"Women don't have to translate, they simply know."

"Of course we do," the redhead answered glibly. "We were little girls once."

"Once? Ow!" Tyler Ward winced and rubbed at the sore spot on his ribs compliments of Nurse Kayenta. "What was that for?"

"Principle," she told him wryly.

Sachiko Kobiyashi smiled. "I agree, principle is important."

They all turned quickly at the sudden loud squawk, only to see Cliona throwing herself at Kushiel in a tickling glomp. The two girls laughed as they tried to fend each other off, and Callum lounged on the bed watching them bemusedly. Clark shook his head, chuckling under his breath. It looked like Kushiel was going to be just fine. If only they could figure out how to sever the connection into her mind.

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"Come on," he urged her, leading her forward.

Cliona stumbled along after Callum, cold seeping through her heavy winter cloak, hoodie, and turtleneck, her sight useless from the blindfold tied tightly about her. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"Not with this blindfold on, I won't," she grumbled, starting to lose some of the feeling in her hands from the wind.

They finally stopped, and she could feel his breath warm against her ear. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you, but-ah!" She flailed about as she felt herself rise of the floor in a levitation spell, until Callum's voice calmed her into stillness.

"I've got you, Cli, just trust me. I just want it to be a surprise."

She sniffed the air as he pulled her through the air, but the freezing wind had stuffed her nose up temporarily, and until she got warm again, she wouldn't be able to smell a thing. After several moments, he set her down, but left her standing there as he rummaged through something. Finally, she felt his hands at the knot on the back of the blindfold.

"Here we are," he murmured, pulling it loose. He watched her blink rapidly against the sudden light and look around.

She almost laughed when she saw it; they were in the barn. More specifically, they were immediately in front of they haystack in which they'd taken unsuccessful refuge from Aidan those months ago. He had laid out several blankets, including the traditional red and white checkered blanket upon which a picnic basket sat open. From it, he had pulled a plate of still steaming grilled cheese sandwiches and a large canteen of soup, pouring it into bowls. Silverware gleamed, and large mugs of mulled cider waited to warm them up. She turned towards him to find him watching her anxiously. "It's wonderful," she told him, her face lighting up in a smile.

Callum breathed a sigh of relief and sank down onto the blanket, pulling her with him. "Professor Ward said as long as we didn't disturb the animals as much as last time, he didn't mind."

"I think that can somehow be arranged."

They talked quietly as they ate, the comfortable, casual kind of talk that only two people who knew each other very well could have. They spoke about Arithmancy and music, two things they both enjoyed, then joked and laughed about some of the other students. Neither of them mentioned Kushiel's strange dream of the week before.

When they had finished, Callum packed everything carefully away in the basket and took Cliona in his arms, simply holding her for a moment. She squirmed in his grasp until she could turn around, kissing him thoroughly. She gave a squealing laugh as he pushed her back against the blanket-covered hay, holding himself over her.

Grey and blue eyes met warm brown eyes as he gently lowered his weight on top of her, kissing his way along her jaw until he could nibble on her ear. She responded enthusiastically, as she usually did, her hands threading through his auburn curls to pull him even closer. It was an enjoyable weight against her hips, and she could feel the heat rising in her chest. Somehow, one of his hands found its way beneath her shirt, not pushing, not testing, simply rubbing strongly against the smooth skin of her stomach. She arched up into him, giving his hand leave to travel upwards, fingertips flirting along her skin to tease at the back strap of her bra.

It was a thoroughly flushed, disheveled, and goofily grinning pair that emerged from the barn when darkness fell.

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Carriegan observed her dorm mate from the corner of her eye as they waited for Professor Greywolf to arrive to begin the Potions lesson. The old, bearded professor was usually about five minutes late, something they'd been able to plan around since their first year. Kushiel was tired; anyone who knew her well could see that. The corner of her mouth twisted in its habitual self-deprecating smirk, but her eyes weren't in it. The dancing emerald eyes were haunted and dark, unnoticeable to anyone not looking for it.

"When was the last time you slept?" she whispered, tenting her textbook up around them to give them some privacy.

"What are you talking about?" Kushiel replied, resting her chin on her hand.

"You don't fool me one bit, Kush," Carriegan retorted, her purple eyes flashing. "I know you, remember? I fall asleep, you're sitting on your bed reading or working on homework. I wake up in the morning, you're working on a necklace or a sketch. You haven't been sleeping, and it's starting to show."

"Thanks ever so, Carr."

"No jokes, Kush, why aren't you sleeping?"

"I do sleep sometimes," she answered defensively. "And then I have another nightmare and it keeps me from sleeping for a few days."

"Kush!"

"Ssh!" She hissed, seeing people's eyes start to turn towards them. "Keep your damn voice down."

"Have you told the professors!"

"No, nor do I plan to. And neither will you," she continued harshly. "It's not going to fix anything, they're still baffled by the first one."

"Have you tried Dreamless Sleep?"

"Yes, and it failed abysmally. They're not normal dreams, Carr, so normal means don't affect them. They'll go away eventually."

"And how long will that take?"

"As long as it takes," Kushiel told her firmly, and Professor Greywolf's tardy entrance into the Potions classroom successfully ended the conversation for the moment.

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Elowen looked up sharply at the bizarre sound that emerged from two spaces down the table. "What in the Sam Hill was that?" she demanded, trying to determine the source of the noise.

"Cliona got a letter from her brother," Raven answered helpfully. "Apparently something amused her about it."

The Enigmus brunette launched herself further down the table until she was in the center of the group. "I got a letter from Cúan," she told them, her voice tripping over near-hysterical giggles. "Listen to this!"

_Hey, Little Sister,_

_So, Mam asked me to write you and let you know what the plans are for Christmas. Aidan's parents have promised that they will keep him away from you over holidays, so that you can have a pleasurable time home. However, that may yet prove to be an unnecessary precaution. Aidan has been strangely moody of late. He won't tell me what he's thinking about, but my bets are on a certain blue-eyed blonde. _

_At any rate, Mam wishes to know if you're planning on staying the entirety of the holidays, or if you're going to once again abandon us to cavort with your friends at school as soon as you can respectably escape. She didn't say it in so many words, of course, but the gist was there. I know you lot usually celebrate Kush's birthday at New Years, but how long before that are you going to leave us all alone?_

_And, speaking of Christmas, do you have any idea what a certain friend on yours might like for a gift? I've been thinking and thinking, and I've come up with a possible solution, but I would appreciate your input on it nonetheless. And the reason I'm not telling you what my thoughts are is because I fully expect you to share this little letter with all of your little friends, and that would ruin the surprise at Yuletide._

_I'll let you ruminate on that, Bunny, and please get back to me. Oh, and tell your friend she could always write me. She doesn't have to gloat over each of my letters without ever responding, or I might just lose the inspiration to write._

_Write back,_

_Cúan_

_P.S.-I am sure you will find no end of sadistic amusement to this, but Aidan has broken his self-imposed silence. He has, very reluctantly, I might add, asked me to inquire after the health of a certain blue-eyed blonde. Too bad I couldn't actually make the bet; I could use the extra pocket money._

Aurelia snickered into her bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. "Oh, how sweet," she giggled. "He asked after me."

"Christmas might not be so bad after all, eh, Cli?" Gwen chuckled, nibbling at her toast.

"It might not be so bad at all," she agreed beatifically.

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The scratching of quills on parchment was a rather sleepy sound under the best of circumstances, and it was quickly lulling well over half the class into a drowsy doze. Professor Tyler Ward glanced up from grading the essays his seventh year Arithmancy class had turned in at the beginning of the hour, just checking around to see who had succumbed to the call of centralized heating.

Elowen, he expected; it was all over her head anyway, and he couldn't for the life of him understand why she had signed up for another year. Her light brown hair puddled around her on the desk, and she twitched occasionally as the edge of her quill dragged softly against her ear with the gentle motions of her breathing.

Gwen and Raven sat at stiff attention as they worked on the problems he'd assigned, smudges of ink across their cheeks from their frustrations. Behind them, Sabina lounged in her chair, cool and collected as always, obviously debating about whether or not to expend the effort. Cliona had her legs crossed up on the desk, her parchment spread out over her textbook on her knees, frowning down at the paper. She was quite good at the subject, and he knew she was trying to figure out a way to pursue the field on a postgraduate basis.

His gaze traveled to the next desk over, expecting to see Kushiel sketching idly on the side of her paper as she worked through the problem in her head before setting it down on the parchment. Instead, she slumped over her desk, forehead resting on her arm as she dozed fitfully. Tyler frowned thoughtfully, setting down his quill to inspect her closer. All the professors had been told to keep a close eye on her, and they had seen the signs of her growing fatigue.

Sleeping in class, however, was a definite first for her. In seven years of teaching her, he had never once heard of her falling asleep in a class. He wrote a swift note on a scrap sheet of parchment and tucked it into his pocket to remember later. Standing up from his desk, he walked around the slightly off-balance piece of furniture and came to rest in front of Kushiel's desk. Part of him hated to wake her up, he reflected ruefully, running a hand through his chin-length red hair. However, he couldn't let the precedent to be set. Sighing, he reached out and lightly shook her shoulder.

She came awake instantly, her right wand clutching her wand and her green eyes dark with fear. He kept his hand on her shoulder to let her ground herself, and she blinked up at him confusedly. "Sir?"

"I know you're tired, Kush, but you need to stay awake while you're in here," he told her gently. "If you'd like, I can write you a note to the infirmary for the rest of the day so you can sleep-"

"Thank you, sir, but I'll be all right," she answered quickly, brushing a lock of hair off her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," he soothed, heading back to his desk. But he watched her for the rest of the period, noting how she propped her chin on her fist and gazed down dully at the problem as she worked it. He pulled the note out of his pocket and scribbled another couple of points, giving himself the stern reminder to bring it up with the Headmaster.

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"Elena, stick your chest out."

"It is out."

Carriegan glanced down at the measuring tape in her hands, her purple eyes widening slightly. "Oh," was all she said, jotting down the measurement. She slid down from the table she was kneeling on and checked down the list of numbers. "Okay, that was the last one," she told the infirmary aide, patting her shoulder. "These are going to be great."

Eying the large pile of fabrics, from deep black to vibrant blue to soft brown to stark white, Cliona nodded bemusedly. "We'll certainly be noticeable," she agreed dryly. She reached out and held up a long peacock feather, simply one in a large stack.

"Well, for obvious reasons, the Halloween Ball only comes around once a year," Raven laughed, running her hand over a bolt of plush black velvet. "Thus it stands to reason that we should go all out for it."

"I'm for that," Kush chuckled, threading tiny blue seed beads onto a wire. She would help with the assembly if necessary, but with enough people knowing how to sew either magically or mundanely, her duty was the jewelry. Her supply boxes were spread all around her, each compartment holding a certain type and color of bead. Aurelia's mother, a muggle, ran a small specialty bead store up in Boston, and she gladly gave her daughter's friend a large discount of her materials. "We're keeping this to vow of secrecy, yeh?" She asked, just to check.

"Well, it's not a Wizard's Oath, or anything, but we'll hold to the same rules as truth or truth," Sabina answered, wrinkling her nose at a vivid orange bolt.

"And anyone who breaks it is gonna wish they had chiggers and ticks where the sun don't shine," Elowen announced darkly. "It'll make what I do to 'em seem sugar and sweet in comparison."

Aurelia giggled brightly, her head resting in Gwen's lap as the other girl looked over the sketches Kush had done for them. "I hope Aidan comes."

"I hope he doesn't," came a low grumble.

"Oh, but Cli, he's so much fun!" the blonde girl protested cheerfully. "And if he comes, I will have a date!"

"Yeah, well, my date's in the band," Carriegan grumbled, tacking up each person's measurements onto the wall.

Perhaps delighted with the prospect of finally having the open area of the cottage being used for its purpose, Mistress Craefter had given the girls free rein of the workshop, allowing them to spread out the fabrics and materials as needed. She stood in the doorway a moment watching them, her silver-grey hair swept up in a chignon that would have been elegant had wisps of it not been frizzing free around her face. She smiled and left them to their work, heading out onto the veranda with a frosty smoothie.

"How bout you, Raven? You got a beau?" Elowen inquired slyly, watching the carrot-top blush fiercely.

"Well, if Cli didn't mind, I was thinking about asking Connor if he'd like to dance with me between sets," she admitted, regarding her fellow Enigmus through her bangs.

"It's fine with me," Cliona shrugged, blinking as Carriegan draped the trailing end of a swath of soft brown suede over her head to get it off the floor. "It's not like you didn't date him before."

"It's not like I'm going to start dating him again," Raven laughed. "I just don't want to go stag to the dance."

"Yeh, we'll leave that to me," Kushiel quipped, and the room was filled with laughter.

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Clark's office was crowded, to the point where Tyler even perched on top of Kushiel's smaller desk to open up some room. All of the Dark Hunters, Robin, and Remus were there, with the same topic on their mind as had been for two weeks. Tyler pulled the worn and creased piece of parchment from his robes pocket, where he had been forgetting it for several days.

Polonius leaned against the wall beneath the silent Lysander. "She fell asleep in her extra lesson today," he reported. "Right in the middle of an exercise, fell asleep there with fur sprouting along the back of her hands."

"She's getting into the transformation?"

"Focus, Clark."

Clark grinned sheepishly and took a sip from his strong black coffee. "Sorry." Sighing, he sank back into his chair. "Do we honestly still have nothing?"

"I think we have more than we know we have," Kraven answered grimly. "I did a routine check of the dorms during my planning period today and the girl has an entire basket of dried roses on her nightstand."

The Headmaster spluttered on his coffee, narrowly avoiding spewing it over his paperwork. "What?"

The Head of Colubrae house nodded, his dark eyes harsh. "Carriegan says she hasn't slept since the first nightmare."

"First nightmare," Clark repeated dully.

Polonius closed his eyes wearily. "Had one today," he said. "I let her sleep, she seemed like she needed it. She woke up with the most bloodcurdling shriek I'd ever hoped not to hear. I told her to go to Robin."

"I think we can safely say she didn't," Robin replied dryly, seated on the arm of the Headmaster's chair.

"Why isn't she telling us any of this?" Sachiko queried, idly stroking the head of the three foot tall fruit bat clutching the top of her shoe.

"She doesn't want to worry us," Tyler answered.

Remus frowned, his mind ignoring the conversation to focus on the salient facts. "A whole basket of dried roses?" he repeated thoughtfully.

"Yes."

"Meaning the painter has been returning."

Rubbing his hands against his eyes, Clark groaned. "Nothing is simple, is it?"

"What if we kept her in the infirmary?" Robin suggested softly. "If we take shifts to watch her, the painter can't come back to reaffirm the connection, and he'll have to give up."

"And how long will that take?" Kraven growled. "Do you propose to keep her in there for the rest of the school year?"

"Don't snipe at me, Kraven, unless you've got something better," she retorted calmly.

"We need to find out how these other dreams are different, if they're different," Sachiko murmured. "Find out what else he's been showing her."

"She's spending the evening here, going through some more of the reports," Clark sighed. "I'll talk to her about it then."

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"I didn't see you at dinner."

Kushiel glanced up at the Headmaster's voice, smiling wearily at him from where she was going over more information on Persephone's minions. "Hello, sir."

"I didn't see you at dinner," he repeated, coming to stand closely behind her, his hand on her shoulder.

"I wasn't all that hungry," she shrugged, adjusting her reading glasses on her nose.

"That's been happening pretty frequently, I hear."

"I just haven't been hungry, that's all," she answered dismissively, her hand trembling slightly as she wrote another line on the newest note sheet.

"Kitten, why didn't you tell us about the other dreams?" he asked gravely, and she looked up at him fully, reluctantly meeting his eyes.

"You were all so worried," she said quietly. "I figured you'd all freak out if I told you that I was still having them."

He frowned deeply and was about to say something when Fineus charged through the door. "Headmaster! Young Howell's got himself chased into a corner by Jolly, and Bast and Genie are eggin' him on!"

"We're not finished with the discussion, Kush," Clark warned her, heading quickly back out of the office.

She sighed and sank her head down on her arms. Of course they weren't. That would be far too easy.

Once he had the only-mild fiasco sorted out, and he wasn't entirely sure the first year hadn't deserved it, Clark made his way back into office to resume the conversation, only to find the redhead dozing off over her notes. With a sigh, he pulled off his robes and covered her with them, retreating back behind his desk to wait.

Some time later, and he couldn't have guessed how much later, he was pulled from his requisition forms for school supplies by a very odd sound. Bast, who had been curled up in his lap, perked her ears up, her golden eyes opening and looking around for the source of the sound. She hopped down from his leg and slunk over to Kushiel, nudging her leg through her plain muggle jeans. The sound repeated itself, and Clark realized that it was a whimper.

"Haddi," he said quietly, and the house elf appeared at his elbow. "I want you to wait right here, in case I need to send you for Nurse Kayenta."

The elf's huge eyes traveled to the redhead, wringing his hands anxiously. "Yes, sirs," he squeaked.

Clark rubbed a slow, smooth circle along the girl's back, hoping to bring her out of the nightmare gently. "Wake up, Kitten," he murmured lowly. "You need to wake up."

She groaned and shied away from his touch, teetering dangerously on the edge of the chair.

Bast meowed inquiringly, and Clark glanced down at the sleek black feline. "Go ahead," he agreed resignedly. "I'm sure she'll forgive you." The cat twitched her tail and reared back onto her hind legs, tenderly nuzzling the girl's arm before calmly sinking her teeth into the meat of her forearm.

Kushiel cried out in pain and fell off the chair, smacking her head on the edge of the desk on her way down and narrowly avoiding squashing the cat, who raced away from the danger. She opened her eyes in time to see Clark an inch or two away from her face, his arms around her to keep her from hitting the floor. He sank down gracefully onto the floor, pulling her gently into his lap.

"Let me see," he instructed softly, and in a daze, she turned her head to allow him better sight of her face. Strong fingers stroked her jaw carefully, testing for any damage. Finding none, he allowed himself the unthinking privilege of running his hand back into her slightly disheveled braid, holding her close against him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she whispered brokenly, clutching her elbows against the obvious tremor under her skin.

"Kitten…"

"I'm just so tired," she admitted, sinking into his warmth. She closed her eyes, feeling the tears start to stream down her face in spite of herself. She felt him arms close about her and wanted to simply weep, but fought the urge with the little energy she had.

Clark glanced up at Bast's insistent yowling. "What is it?" His eyes widened as the cat purposefully knocked off a dried rose. He stretched out a hand and caught it. "Kush, what color is the rose I gave you?"

"Yellow," she sniffled.

The rose in his hand had once been a deep, vibrant red. He crushed it furiously. "How?" he demanded hoarsely. "How could he have done it? I was right here!"

Kushiel opened her mouth to respond, but then shut it again, cocking her head curiously to one side. "Haddi?" she asked softly. "What's wrong?"

Clark turned to regard the elf. Haddi shifted his weight anxiously from foot to foot, almost absently ramming his head into the side of the Headmaster's desk. "Haddi?"

Emerald eyes shifted between the elf and the rose in Clark's hand several times before the connection was made. "You!" she cried, and with a terrified squeal, Haddi popped out of the room.

"Kush, what is it?" struggling to keep her from rising to her feet.

She groaned against the sudden wave of dizziness and sank back into his embrace, closing her eyes. "It's Haddi," she muttered. "He's how the painter has been getting in."

"That's not possible," Clark refuted, shaking his head. "He's sworn to the school."

"Which holds truer, old oaths sworn in blood or new oaths made at the behest of the old ones?"

"Say what?"

"Haddi's family is still alive!" she yelled, thumping her fist furiously against her thigh. "Maybe it's the painter, maybe it's Persephone, but Haddi's Master or Mistress is still alive and giving him orders. The rose got here because that's part of a house elf's magic, to make things appear where they need to be, and that's how the painter could get past the wards into the school, because Haddi brought him in!"

She went to punch her leg again but he grabbed hold of her fist, wrapping his fingers around it. "Calm down," he ordered sternly. "You hit your head badly and you're exhausted as hell. We'll find Haddi. Lin!"

Another house elf appeared in the office, this one in the regulation embroidered tea towel. "Sirs called Lin?"

"Find Haddi. I want him brought to me immediately. Under no circumstances is he to be allowed alone in this school any longer."

"Yes, sirs!" Lin squealed, disappearing instantly.

"Accio ankh," Clark continued without missing a beat. A small black ankh on a chain flew from his desk into his hand and he squeezed it tightly, feeling it warm unbearably in his hand.

"What does that do?" A small voice asked from within the circle of his arms.

"It will bring the other Dark Hunters here," he told her. His lips brushed lingeringly against her temple, feeling her continue to shiver. He wrapped his robe more tightly about her, hearing the first pounding footsteps of his colleagues.

Kushiel remained safe within the Headmaster's arms as he explained what was going on to his fellow Dark Hunters. In a way, they were almost relieved; at least here was the answer to the two week long puzzle. They left the office only minutes after they'd come in, to check with the house elves as the search progressed. Clark gave further instructions to Bast, Genie, and Jolly Roger, telling Lysander to keep his eyes open as well. The messages would be passed along through the professors to the ghosts and Fineus, informing everyone who needed to know. When all was in full motion, he looked down at the young woman nestled against his chest.

She was fast asleep.

He smiled and stroked her hair back away from her face, her breath coming slow and easy, no tension knotting the lines of her brow. Her hand curled around his shirt like a child's, and he carefully rose to his feet while holding her. If he ever got married, the stray thought crossed his mind, he would be more than practiced in carrying his bride over the threshold. Nudging open the door to his office, he walked out towards the infirmary, fully intending on seeing her settled in there for a full night's sleep, one without any dreams, gods willing.


	11. Jack O'Lantern's Jig

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. sigh**

_A/N: The Jack-o-Lantern story actually comes from a story the Headmaster told in one of the threads at Avistrum, so I can't claim it. Just about everything else comes from demented mental wanderings of us girls. Have fun! And, as always, please review._

_A/N2:I'm sorry it's been so long; things have been happening. It'll probably be some time until the next chapter gets picked up, but here's this one. I promise, it will grow in leaps and bounds once summer gets here, but school year at uni is a bit rough. Love you, though!_

Chapter Eleven: Jack O'Lantern's Jig

"What on earth is going on?"

Sachiko looked over at the Headmaster with a grin on her face, Vieruss making small squeaking sounds from within the hiding place of her hair. She reached up and stroked the brown-black vampire bat. "They're decorating," she said simply.

He leaned on the wall next to her, watching the bustle of activity in the Great Hall. He wasn't surprised to see the girls, as they were rather loosely called, seated in the middle of the organized chaos. They'd apparently borrowed a battalion of house elves and were directing them in the adornment of the Great Hall in preparation for the Halloween Ball that night. Lin stood by them, his long ears barely coming to their shoulders as he passed along orders.

Gwen chuckled over the large pumpkin in her lap, Sticking a faded blue blanket onto its side. "Do you think the Great Pumpkin will come this year?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Cliona asked absently, settling a slightly shaggy red wig atop another pumpkin.

"He didn't come last year," the Parador brunette scowled.

"I think he was on a mission," Carriegan said dryly, and they chuckled. She carefully drew an Eye of Horus on yet another of the large orange fruits, this one with a sleek black wig, black leather duster, and purple vest. Deeming it done, she set it on the table for the house elves to put out with the others. They had most of the faculty done already, the magic of the elves rising it up to float far above the High Table.

Aurelia laid with her head in Raven's lap, lazily levitating orange and black candles. "We're gonna be done soon right? Because we need to get ready soon."

"Aurel, it's eleven in the morning," Raven felt obliged to point out, competing with Elena to see who could shoot the cobwebs farthest out of their wands.

"Yeah, I know, I really shouldn't cut it so close, but it's all for a good cause, right?"

The carrot-top smacking her forehead made an audible thunk.

Rolling her eyes, Sabina dipped the tip of her wand into a bowl of black, orange, and purple glitter, lobbing it across the space. The bomb shattered against the ceiling, the glitter spraying over the corner. "Darling, you really should be used to it after six years."

"There's that strange thing called hope which springs eternal."

"Some say hope, some say stupidity. I personally hold with the latter."

"Be nice," Kushiel snickered, putting the last touch on a pair of long, trailing purple and blue earrings. "How's Professor Ward coming there, Cli?"

"Almost done," she answered. Performing a quick-dry spell on the paint, she held it up and proudly displayed the number 42 on the back. "Looks good?"

"Looks good," the redhead agreed.

Clark pushed off from the wall and went to sit in the middle of the group, ruffling Kush's hair as he passed. Ignoring her growl, he eyed all the decorations. "You girls are doing a fantastic job," he complimented.

"Spank you," Gwen chirped cheekily.

"Promise?" Kushiel murmured, and Cliona snorted loudly.

"What?"

"Never mind, sir," the Colubrae smirked.

He shook his head and pulled one of the extra pumpkins into his lap, turning it over thoughtfully in his hands. "You know how Jack O'Lanterns came to be?" he asked conversationally, and the girls traded glances amongst themselves, shaking their heads.

"Going to enlighten us, sir?" Carriegan teased.

"Well, it all started with an Irishman called Stingy Jack."

"Stingy Jack, eh?" Gwen heckled impishly. "Sounds like one of my uncles."

"Stingy Jack," the Headmaster continued with a warning look, "was a miserable old drunkard who loved to play tricks on anyone and everyone."

"Now he really sounds like one of my uncles."

"Shoosh, you," Elena commanded gently. "He's telling a story."

"Thank you, Elena," He brushed a wisp of dark brown hair out of his eyes, smiling. "One dark, Halloween night, Jack ran into the Devil himself in a local public house. Jack tricked the Devil by offering his soul in exchange for one last drink. The Devil quickly turned himself into a sixpence to pay the bartender, but Jack immediately snatched the coin and deposited it into his pocket, next to a silver cross that he was carrying. Thus, the Devil could not change himself back and Jack refused to allow the Devil to go free until the Devil had promised not to claim Jack's soul for ten years. 

"The Devil agreed, and ten years later Jack again came across the Devil while out walking on a country road. The Devil tried collecting what he was due, but Jack thinking quickly, said, "I'll go, but before I do, will you get me an apple from that tree?".

"The Devil, thinking he had nothing to lose, jumped up into the tree to retrieve an apple. As soon as he did, Jack placed crosses all around the trunk of the tree, thus trapping the Devil once again. This time, Jack made the Devil promise that he would not take his soul when he finally died. Seeing no way around his predicament, the Devil grudgingly agreed.

"When Stingy Jack eventually passed away several years later, he went to the Gates of Heaven, but was refused entrance because of his life of drinking and because he had been so tight-fisted and deceitful. So, Jack then went down to Hell to see the Devil and find out whether it were possible to gain entrance into the depths of Hell, but the Devil kept the promise that had been made to Jack years earlier, and would not let him enter.

""But where can I go?" asked Jack.

""Back to where you came from!" replied the Devil.

"The way back was windy and very dark. Stingy Jack pleaded with the Devil to at least provide him with a light to help find his way. The Devil, as a final gesture, tossed Jack an ember straight from the fires of Hell. Jack placed the ember in a hollowed-out turnip...one of Jack's favorite foods which he always carried around with him whenever he could steal one. From that day forward, Stingy Jack has been doomed to roam the earth without a resting place and with only his lit turnip to light the way in the darkness.  
The Irish called this spectre 'Jack of the Lantern'.

"So that's where it came from," Clark concluded, holding up the pumpkin again. "On Halloween, when it was believed that spirits were roaming freely, including Jack, they would take turnips, hollow them out, place a light inside and carve a scary face into it to frighten him and other spirits away. These were called Jack-O-Lanterns."

A short silence followed the end of the lesson, finally broken by slow, exaggerated clapping. "Story time with the children?" Kraven drawled, standing next to Professor Kobiyashi.

"I entertain myself my way, you entertain yourself yours," Clark replied diplomatically, and Carriegan snickered into her hand.

"Yes, by making all the first-years tremble in their boots," she murmured to Sabina.

"Well, first years and Susan," the elegant girl muttered back, and the few who heard her snorted indelicately.

"So, what costumes are going to be gracing the hall tonight?" Clark asked, wincing as Sabina launched another glitter bomb. The house elves were going to be finding glitter for weeks, he just knew it.

"Nice try, sir," Kushiel answered dryly. "You know the rules, though."

He sighed and nodded reluctantly. "I do; I just keep hoping you'll bend them or something."

"Funny how that hope thing keeps coming up," Aurelia giggled.

"Besides, we usually get in trouble for bending the rules," Cliona added thoughtfully. "Unless you'd like us to start bending the rules."

"It's a bit late for that invitation, don't you think?"

"Speaking of late, are we done yet?" Aurelia wanted to know. "We really should go start getting ready."

Clark looked at his watch and rolled his eyes. "Girls."

"It'll be worth the time," Carriegan promised, rising to her feet. "Besides, we have to make sure you can't so easily guess who we are."

"Do we get prizes if we do?" he teased.

"Yes," she answered simply, and the girls laughed at the stunned expression on his face.

Kushiel stood up and packed her materials away into the small metal lunchbox in which she carried them. "Come on," she groaned. "She'll start asking every couple of minutes if we don't. See you tonight, sir."

"Until tonight, ladies," he replied, watching them leave the Great Hall. He glanced over at Sachiko and Kraven. "I get the strangest feeling I should be afraid."

"I knew we'd pound some intuition into you yet," Sachiko chuckled, and Kraven nodded, eying the faculty pumpkins floating above the High Table.

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"Help! The eyeliner just attacked me!"

Laughing, Carriegan went to go help Elowen with removing the dark liner she'd accidentally put halfway across her nose. "Try not holding it like a crayon," she advised. "It's delicate, and it needs a delicate touch, especially for you."

"Aurelia, I think I'm ready for the hair now."

The blonde Parador went over to stand behind Gwen, running her hands thoughtfully through the thick brunette mass. "You're sure you want it that color?" She asked doubtfully.

"It matches my costume, Aurelia, of course I want it that color."

"All right," she shrugged. She pulled out her wand and performed the color change charms, sweeping the length of bloodwood in complicated arcs to make the hair obediently slide into its elegant up-do. She fastened some ordinary muggle pins in it just to be safe, as she had done with several of the other girls.

Cliona grinned from where she stood wiggling into her dress. This was going to be the absolute best ball yet. They'd been planning it for nearly the full year, making sketch after sketch, plan after plan. They'd even stumbled across the appearance changing charms, longer lasting than glamours and not as uncomfortable as Polyjuice, to prevent anyone from knowing who they were. Hair and eyes, nothing was staying the same, and the faces were remaining carefully hidden behind stunning masks. She reached behind her with her wand and slid it up the open seam, sealing it completely. "Kush, where's the jewelry?" she called out, and her friend looked up from buckling her heels.

"I set it by your dress," she answered, her hair still down and red for the moment.

"Elena, come sit," Carriegan instructed, pointing to the chair in front of her. Meekly, the infirmary aide did as she was told and Carriegan did the same charms, though the color was markedly different from Gwen's. "There we go," she announced, patting it smooth. "Do you need help with your make-up or are you good on that degree?"

"I think I'm good," she laughed softly, retreating to her own little corner. She picked up the necklace and clasped it around her neck, inserting the earrings carefully.

"Elowen, come here, I'll help you while Carriekin's doing everyone's hair," Kushiel offered sympathetically, and the southern belle huffed to a position in front of the Irish girl.

"Damn stuff's more trouble than it's worth," she pronounced darkly, and Kushiel smacked her arm lightly.

"Hold still and don't glower, or you'll just be stuck with it all over your face," she warned. She rummaged through the pile of cosmetics until she found what she wanted and set to work, slowly brushing the color onto the girl's face in measured and precise strokes.

"I'm not a canvas," Elowen mumbled.

"You are for the moment, so hush." She flinched slightly as she felt hands at the back of her neck, but it was only Carriegan.

"Your turn," her dorm mate informed her with a smirk. "What are we doing for you again? Neon green?"

"Very funny," she retorted dryly. "Look up, Elowen." She reached out and pulled the Lobostro's chin back down. "Only with your eyes, sweets." When the girl complied, she deftly applied the mascara to her lower lashes and pronounced her done. A slight tingling along her spine told her that Carriegan was, as well, and she reached a curious hand up to smooth the sweep of her hair. "I can't believe we all managed to agree on the same hairstyle."

"It makes it harder for them to tell who's who," Carriegan shrugged. "After all, it would spoil the game if all they had to do was look for the pigtails to find Aurelia."

"Hey!" the blonde protested. "I'm not always in pigtails!"

"When was the last time you weren't wearing pigtails that you weren't asleep in bed?" Sabina demanded, setting one of her accessories into her hair.

"True," Aurelia agreed, shoulders slumping slightly.

"Do your hair, sweetie, you'll feel better," Raven chuckled, and Aurelia perked up immediately.

It was a very near thing, with so many of them to get ready, and necessity dictated that they assist each other, but ten minutes before the ball was to start, all nine of them were completely ready. Cliona dashed out on her own to meet up with her brothers; the Bunny Baiters were alternating with the enchanted orchestra to provide the music for the night.

So it was that eight young woman swept through the halls together, their costumes more in line with the traditional masques than any kind of trick-or-treating costume, but it was a ball after all. Pausing outside the Great Hall, they placed their masks over their faces, keeping them in place with Sticking charms. "Are we ready?" Carriegan asked.

"As we'll ever be," Elowen agreed.

"And remember," Sabina cautioned. "No talking unless someone has already figured you out, and werewolves don't count."

"So I'm allowed to talk to my date?" Raven asked wryly.

"If there's no one else around to hear you, sure," Sabina shrugged. "Let's go in then, if we're ready."

Aurelia giggled brightly and clapped her hands. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun!"

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The music started promptly at eight, and Clark glanced around the chaos of costumed people. "I don't see anything even resembling the girls," he noted thoughtfully, and Kraven smirked.

"They're most likely planning their entrance," he replied, fastidiously straightening his white gloves.

The professors were generally exempt from the costume contest, as it was somewhat important that they be recognized in case of an emergency, so Halloween was usually full license to play without the worry of trying not to be known. Perhaps the first true roar of the evening was Fineus coming in on stilts at the Jolly Green Giant. The leprechaun towered over everyone else in the room, even Kraven, and how he managed to dance in the mammoth stilts they had yet to figure out.

The double doors at the end of the hall swept open and perfectly framed the eight girls standing between them. Clark smiled slightly beneath his white half-mask. "I'd say that's them."

"Yes, time for the parade," Robin laughed, smoothing her gold and turquoise collar. The new Cleopatra turned her attention eagerly towards the door. The girls entered one by one, making sure they had the focus of every person in the room before descending the steps into the ball itself.

The first was a beta, long tails of semi-sheer purple and blue sweeping back behind her from her gown and sleeves. Layers upon layers of the silk whispered against itself, wrapping around her neck in a high mandarin collar. Dark indigo hair was done up with a sheer drape trailing down from it, with a matching mask concealing her face, indigo eyes dancing mischievously. She curtsied to the room at large and made her way to one side, awaiting the rest of her school.

She was followed by a gold and blue butterfly, body encased in a strapless black velvet sheath and arms hidden by matching gloves nearly up to the shoulder. With black mask, hair, eyes, and antennae, her wings stood out gloriously, the full height of herself, fluttering glitter with every movement. She nodded gravely and went to join the beta, wings still trailing glitter behind her. The glitter and gold caught the candlelight with every movement, not enough to cast off a reflection, but always enough to catch the corner of the eye.

A tiger marched down the stairs next, black and orange tail twitching against the steps as she descended. Stripes hugged her down to her toes, a white velvet belly breaking it up slightly, and black tipped ears sitting proudly atop her black and orange hair. Blue eyes gleamed behind her mask, the whiskers shaking with concealed laughter at her nose.

Once the tiger had joined the ranks of the presented, a sleek black panther slunk down the steps, the dress collared around her neck and hugging her curves into a full skirt. She curtsied deeply to the assembly, revealing her bare back and the long slit all the way up to her right hip before straightening, her hands encased in wrist-length black gloves and her ears peeking out from her black hair. Golden, slitted eyes regarded them knowingly from behind her mask, her tail stroking thoughtfully along the side of her neck as she joined her friends.

The panther was barely down the steps when a cocker spaniel came bounding down, curly brown and white ears hanging down from her fawn brown hair. The dress was short but dripping in fringe, constantly shifting with her energetic movements. A tail wagged behind her, strappy brown and white heeled sandals showing off long, toned legs. She waved cheerfully at the silent students and raced over to the others, one hand touching the edge of her mask as if unsure of the charm holding it in place.

The next to emerge from the dwindling tableau in the doorway was a black widow, her blood red hair marking her out against her black costume. With narrow straps and a plunging neckline, the dress hugged her until mid-thigh, falling out in six thick tatters to represent legs. She spread her arms wide and high as she slowly stalked down the steps, a sheer and beaded cobweb spreading between her arms from her back. Black eyes peered at everyone from behind the opalescent, seemingly fractured mask, casting back images tenfold. With a last sweep of her drape, she joined the others, turning to watch the last few.

A sparrow, adorable in its muted browns, nearly hopped down the steps, her movements quick and sprightly. A fitted bodice enhanced modest curves, skirts draping out around her in little flurries with each movement. A feathered mask framed soft brown eyes, more feathers tangled in her upswept hair, and drapes reminiscent of wings flowed from the separate sleeves down to the floor. She sank into an elegant curtsey and joined her flock, waiting for their last member.

Regal and stunning in a bright, vivid blue, the peacock surveyed the room majestically before deigning to enter. The gown hugged high around her neck before slinking down to the floor, but trailed several feet behind her in a train of gorgeous peacock feathers, a few much shorter ones tufting out of the small crown in her hair A feathered and beaded mask concealed her features, and she barely inclined her head to her fellow students, joining the rest of the indomitable seventh year girls.

Silence followed their dramatic entrance, and Clark shook his head before clapping loudly. The rest of the school joined in, and the Bunny Baiters took that as their cue to begin their first song. Cliona pulled the mic off the stand, her long white bunny ears flopping over into her anime-pink eyes. She didn't bother with a mask, because everyone knew she was the lead singer of the band anyway. Clad in a white leather minidress with matching knee high boots and a cottontail, her white hair up with her ears, she was absolutely adorable. With her brothers ranged behind her as a fox, a raven, a snow leopard, and a lion, she looked like prime prey.

Which was, of course, the point.

The drums kicked in behind her and Cliona started to sing, the familiar adrenaline rush racing through her gut as her fellow students started to dance and laugh.

Ginny Lupin, resplendent in the reds and golds of a phoenix, swept up to the knot of professors, her flaming hair tangling with golden feathers down her back. "That was quite an entrance," she noted mischievously.

"I haven't seen Callum yet," Clark replied with a broad smile.

"That's because Remus is still trying to drag him in here from our rooms," she answered with a wicked giggle. "Apparently he's not entirely comfortable with his costume."

"Really?" Sachiko asked curiously, her orange and brown Toledo Terrors pompoms held down at her sides. "What is he?"

"Oh, I would hate to ruin the surprise." Her amber eyes traveled over the room, lighting on a giant treasure troll. Whoever was hidden within the costume was wearing a large flesh colored suit, an electric blue jewel in the navel and matching hair wisping straight up. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but who is that?"

"That would be Polonius."

Ginny cocked her head to one side, trying to picture the normally reserved Transfigurations professor in the suit. "I truly can't see it."

"His elder daughter just got into the muggle toys called Treasure Trolls," Robin explained. "He's been up to his ears in them for the past few months."

"Besides, there seem to be a lot of students rather scared of him."

"I'd be scared, too, if that thing came looming up behind me." She shuddered and turned back to her cluster, looking over their costumes. Sachiko Kobiyashi as a cheerleader for Professor Ward's quidditch team was amusing, as was Robin being Cleopatra, given the Headmaster's penchant for all things Egyptian. In the midst of rescuing Sachiko from a late-night grading session, Robin had told Ginny that she and Clark had had a short romance back in their school days, and occasional reminders of that echoed through in present-day jokes.

Tyler as on old operatic Viking, complete with long braids and spear, made her giggle, but it was Clark and Kraven who were sure to make the younger, and not so younger, girls go gaga. Clark was in full regalia as the Phantom of the Opera, complete with cloak, gloves, and plain white half-mask. There was something to his posture that was more mysterious, slightly more menacing than normal, just enough to send shivers down the spine and keep the eyes coming back. Kraven, however, had startled them all, with an elegant, closely-tailored suit, a beaded mask concealing the upper half of his face. He was dressed in vibrant reds, a velvet cloak draped over one arm to keep it from trailing on the floor. In all the speculating about Halloween and the dour Divination professor, it had never once occurred to any of them that he might do something as far out of character as Casanova.

Fiddling with the ruby pendant at her throat, Ginny smirked and regarded him thoughtfully. "Dare I ask?"

He rolled his eyes amidst laughter from the other professors. "Let's call it potential revenge," he drawled, and Ginny raised her eyebrows.

"Against?"

"Susan Jevoli has had a rather self-endangering goal for the past three years," Robin answered delicately. "She decided that Kraven simply needed to be hugged."

"I think I've heard of this," she mused. "Callum said she was in the infirmary for a busted knee."

"Yes, she fell rather hard when he moved away suddenly."

"She deserved it."

"So you're going as Casanova to…"

"Scare the living daylights out of her?" Kraven finished for her. She nodded, and he smirked. "Absolutely."

"Everyone should have a hobby," she shrugged. "Oh, here comes Remus and Callum," she added, gesturing towards the door.

Cliona's eyes happened to fall on the door at the same time and her jaw nearly dropped. Remus was practically dragging Callum in, that was true, but what a thing to be dragging! The young man's bare chest gleamed with oil and some soot, bright red suspenders holding up his tight, low slung leather pants. A red bandana covered the lower half of his face, and a shovel was held in his hand, auburn curls spilling over his forehead into his eyes. "Holy shit!"

All activity in the room, including the music, ceased, and Cliona realized a moment too late that the microphone was not only still in her hand, but still up by her mouth. She blushed fiercely and didn't dare look over at the professors. "Oops." She murmured, and the moment was broken by laughter.

"Nice going, Bunny," a fox muttered before resuming play on his rhythm guitar.

The cocker spaniel bounded up to Professor Ward and tugged on his hand, gesturing towards the dance floor.

"What, you're not allowed to speak?" He asked.

Smiling broadly, she shook her head, her curl tipped ears moving with minds of their own with the motion. Chuckling, Tyler allowed himself to be led to the dance floor.

"And so it begins," Kraven muttered, shaking his head.

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked, watching Clark be led off by the butterfly.

"They'll trade us back and forth most of the night, taunting us with the fact that it'll take us at least that long to figure out who each of them is."

"Is it really that difficult?"

"Probably not for you, you can smell them beyond the costumes, as the other wolves can, but for the rest?" Sachiko shrugged. "Kraven's not allowed to give any hints if he's Seen them, and Mistress Creafter said they were all very careful not to let her see which costume belonged to which girl."

"Besides," Robin added, grinning as Kraven was led off by the black widow. "They're very good. As silly as Aurelia is normally, you won't catch her by it tonight. I swear they practice trading personalities beforehand."

Ginny couldn't help but start giggling when she saw the beta dancing with a Detroit Demiguise cheerleader. "Is that Dankalious?" She asked through her chortles, naming Sabina's younger brother.

"Yes," Sachiko chuckled. "Only he would come as a female cheerleader."

"And what team should he choose but the archrival to Tyler's team," Robin finished with a grin. "He's certainly an interesting character, our Dan."

Remus surrendered the reluctant Callum to the dubious mercies of the sparrow and came around the side of the dance floor to kiss his wife on the cheek, but she backed away from him. "What?"

"You can't honestly expect me to-!"

"Why not?" he asked, his charmed black eyes sparkled impishly.

"Hermione would kill me after Snape got through killing you," she retorted. "The next time I saw him, it would be the only thing I could think of, and you know damn well he'd pick up on it."

Remus Lupin, in the guise of Severus Snape, smiled and shrugged. "But that's what makes it so much fun," he teased her, pulling her into his arms.

She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "So does that mean, in the spirit of fun, that you'll keep the charms on after the party?"

"Ginny!"

Laughing, Ginny tugged on his arm. "Come on, let's dance."

Perhaps forty-five minutes later, the Bunny Baiters set their instruments down on their platform and stepped down. There was a minute before the enchanted orchestra was scheduled to begin, but there was someone more than willing to take advantage of that sole minute.

Casanova swept through the crowd, taking the hand, or rather paw, of a large teddy bear, raining kisses down upon the furry extremity. "Come, my love," he invited in a husky voice. "Come with me, and we shall escape these children to our bower of passion."

"S-s-sir?" The bear stuttered, trying to pull away her paw.

"Will you come?" he asked, sidling up close beside her.

The teddy bear stumbled backwards and fell on her butt, scrambling away from him. Smirking cruelly, Casanova threw his cloak over his shoulder with a flourish and stalked gracefully back to a corner of the room. The panther, the tiger, and the peacock were there, as well, shoulders shaking as they struggled to keep their laughter silent. "Laugh it up all you like," he told them. "They'll figure you out by the end. They always do."

The panther shrugged, golden eyes gleaming. The peacock took her arm and strolled them away, heads bent together in whispered conference too low for him to hear.

"What's that about?" Kraven asked, but the tiger simply shrugged.

Free for the next forty-five minutes, Cliona eagerly sought out Callum, finding him hiding near the refreshments table. Repressing a squeal, she threw herself at him. "You look so hot!"

It was hard to tell with half his face hidden by the bandana, but she was fairly sure he was blushing. "You look adorable," he told her, his voice low. "It makes me want to pounce on you."

"So why don't you?"

"I think you already covered the highly public inappropriate action for the evening, don't you?"

This time, it was she who blushed, but she lifted the bandana just high enough to kiss him lightly. "I was surprised," she defended. "It's not like you ever warned me what your costume was."

"I didn't know either, Ginny took care of it."

"Really?" She wrinkled her nose in amusement. "Is that why you were so late?"

He got a pained expression on his face. "Cliona, what on earth makes you think I'd want to wear something like this out in public?"

"I rather like it," she teased, sliding her fingers underneath the suspenders.

"And there are a number of things I'd love to see you wearing, but I'm not about to ask you to show them out in public," he told her lowly.

Her eyes widened. "That's not fair," she pouted. "Now you've gone and put ideas in my head."

He tugged the bandana down and kissed her lingeringly.

"Oh, come on, little sister, can't you save it for a bedroom?"

Cliona turned and grinned at the snow leopard standing behind her. "Don't let Da hear you say that, RiRi, or he might decide to come out to school again."

Her eldest brother laughed and tugged the end of one of her rabbit ears. "Heaven forbid such a thing," he agreed. He held out a large hand to the bemused stoker. "It's nice to finally meet you, Callum."

"Yes, it is, Conri," Callum answered, shaking the proffered hand firmly.

"Bunny," the fox began, sidling up to them at the table. "Will you have mercy on me and just tell me which one your little friend is, so I don't have to go sniffing her out?"

"That would entirely ruin the purpose of the game, Cúan," she replied lightly.

"Well, I daresay we already figured out which one Aurelia is," he chuckled.

"How's that?"

"She's the one keeping Aidan from coming anywhere near you." He pointed out the dance floor. Aidan had come along as a roadie of sorts to the Bunny Baiters, however reluctant Cliona had been to allow it. He had refused to come in costume, dressing instead in all black in the time honored tradition of all techies, but he was currently trapped in the mass of dancers by the black panther.

Cliona smirked smugly. "Believe that if it gives you comfort, Cúan, by all means."

"You mean it's not Aurelia?"

"I didn't say if it was or it wasn't."

Cúan frowned, his vivid green eyes trained on the dancing pair. "Now you've got my curiosity up."

"That's not my problem, is it?" she asked, grinning. "Just remember, you're not allowed to out anyone; werewolves have an unfair advantage."

"I'm not allowed to announce my findings," he retorted glibly. "That doesn't mean I'm not allowed to find out."

"Then by all means, go ahead."

Cúan slowly made his way through the mass of dancers, but by the time he got to Aidan, the sleek black cat was gone, with a tiger in her place. Aidan was scowling horrifically. Grinning, Cúan sniffed the air thoughtfully as he came up right behind them. Not Aurelia. A tap on his shoulder made him turn around before he could say anything to him, and a black widow looked up at him with dancing eyes. She spread her arms in invitation, the beaded drape spreading in elegant whispers.

Smiling, he accepted the dance and took her into his arms, settling one hand at her waist and cradling her hand in the other. She smiled and laid her head against his shoulder, and he didn't even need to catch her scent to know who it was. His smile deepening, he held her in closer against him and swayed to the music.

After moving away from Aidan, the black panther made her way to the refreshment table, farther down from Cliona and Callum. Ladling herself a glass of punch, she sipped it slowly to regain her breath. A small smile graced her lips beneath her black velvet mask, and her eyes traveled over the assembly. Things were in full swing, and everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. Draining her punch, she set down the crystal glass and went in search of a new partner. She found one in Professor Ward, although juggling his spear while dancing proved to be most amusing.

Aidan was rapidly losing his patience. From the panther he had been passed to the tiger, from the tiger to the beta, and now the peacock had kept him from getting off the dance floor. At this rate, by the time he was allowed away from the dancers, Cliona would be back up on stage for the next set. He knew who each of them was, of course, but he wasn't allowed to announce it. Finally breaking free of the peacock, he looked about for Cliona, but couldn't find her. He knew very well that they were doing it on purpose, but he couldn't do thing one to stop them.

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Clark looked up, surprised to see the lights dimming. The candles were charmed to go out at midnight, signaling the end of the dance. His feet were aching in the way he always associated with teaching, simply being on them for too long a span of time. The girls had definitely thought through their costumes this year, he concluded ruefully. They'd been able to guess Carriegan, who stuck pretty closely around Cúan whenever the Bunny Baiters were on an off set. Aurelia had finally cornered the frustrated Aidan and kissed him soundly, giving up her disguise, and he had a hunch from watching the peacock dance with Dankalious that it was Sabina; she certainly wouldn't dance with her brother like she would with any other male.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked down into the golden eyes of the black panther. He had danced several dances with each of the girls, and enjoyed them, so he accepted her hand for a slow waltz, dancing not far from Sachiko and Kraven. A subtle scent wafted around him, but he couldn't quite place it. Whatever it was, it prompted him to pull her closer than was strictly appropriate, her head laying on his shoulder. His gloved hand curled around hers, and his chin rested against the top of her head.

The candles flickered warningly, and she sighed, shifting against him. The scent of vanilla and roses wrapped around him gently and he smiled. "You're an excellent dancer, Kitten," he told her lowly, and he was rewarded with a breathy little laugh.

"You, as well, sir," Kushiel responded gravely.

"So do I get a prize for guessing correctly?" he asked impishly.

"I guess that depends," she answered, eyes dancing. "What prize would you claim?"

He bent down closer to her, his lips barely brushing against hers on their way to her ear, his breath soft and warm against her neck. "I'll have to get back to you on that, Kitten."

The candles extinguished and she shivered, knowing the Phantom would be appearing in her dreams for many nights to come. When the Headmaster brought the normal lights back up, Cliona appeared next to her, her hair and eyes back to normal.

"You look like you just got hit by a bus," she observed, flicking a long white ear out of her face.

"That's pretty damn close," Kushiel agreed, her eyes back to their normal vivid emerald. She took a deep breath and brushed a wisp of curling red hair off her forehead. "Shall we?"

"Yes, I think we shall." Arm in arm, the two girls headed out of the Great Hall with the flood of students, but rather than heading back to their dorms like everyone else, they headed outside to the courtyard. They were joined only moments later by the other girls, Cliona's brothers, and the professors.

"Aurelia, Carriegan, can you please?" Elowen pleaded, teeth chattering as she hugged herself tightly. "It's colder'n molasses in January out here."

Laughing, the two girls cast Warming Charms on each person at a time.

Sachiko tilted her head thoughtfully as she felt the warmth trickle up her skin. "Remind me next lesson and I'll teach you the charm that can be used over an area."

"Sweet!" Aurelia giggled. She poked Aidan in the side. "Put your arms around me," she ordered innocently.

"Your wings are in the way," he snorted. She frowned at him and he gave in, standing at her side and wrapping his arms around her.

"Atta girl, Aurel, the no nonsense approach," Cúan congratulated, leaning against the stone banisters with one hand holding Carriegan's.

"What are we doing?" Callum whispered in Cliona's ear.

"Tradition," she answered quietly. "As All Hallow's passes into All Saint's, you can light candles for the dead to find their way."

"Ghosts?"

"No," a voice told him softly. He turned around to see Lady Viola Fey emerging from the solid doors. "We have no way to find. But, those who have died during the year can follow the candles to their destinations."

Kushiel peeled off her mask and gloves and laid them on the first step, picking up the box of candles they'd placed there earlier in the day. She handed one out to each person and they lit them.

Clark looked out over the courtyard, watching the mist being to curl into wispy tendrils. Later in the morning, it would be thick and impenetrable, but for now it was barely a silver twist against the midnight darkness. A glimmering white mist wrapped itself around his candle and dissipated into the night, following the trail of smoke upwards from the wick.

"So are these people who have died here at Avistrum during the year?" Callum asked, watching another wight spiral up into the darkness.

"No," Kushiel answered. "Souls travel to places like Avistrum, places where magic is steeped into the very ground and there are still those who practice some of the Old Ways. I grew up lighting the candles for All Saint's; the village did, as well. Right next to the cakes for the imps were candles that would burn all through the night for the souls."

"I wonder why Hogwarts never did that," he mused, watching the white gleam grow.

"Rhon said they did. She asked Professor Flitwick about it, once, and he told her that the professors light the candles when all the students were in bed after the feast."

"I wonder how many of these are Her get," Carriegan murmured, her head on Cúan's shoulder.

"They include muggle, as well," Cliona reminded her. "They have their own wars."

Kushiel glanced at Cli, her face pale in the moonlight. The numbers of those dead because of Persephone were large enough, and would only continue to rise until she could be stopped. Her gaze shifted over to the Headmaster, and she could read her own thoughts written into his face. Her candle billowed momentarily, a spirit using the light to make its ascent.

Kraven regarded the girls thoughtfully from where he stood near the door, candle cradled loosely in his hand. These nine girls were the driving force of the student body. The other students, no matter how reluctantly, did as they said and followed their example. The man was a realist and always had been, and his Sight had taught him to prepare for all possibilities. The details evaded him, but he knew, as surely as he knew his own name, that Persephone would not long tolerate failure. If She ever came to the school, how would these girls react? Could they keep the rest of the students calm? Keep them safe? They were scattered across all four houses, to be sure, but how strong would their leadership be?

"Penny for your thoughts?" Sachiko murmured in his ear.

He regarded her grimly, feeling her lace her fingers through his. "I fear for them," he admitted lowly.

"They're good girls," she told him, voice just as soft. "They're strong, and they're intelligent. You needn't fear for them, but only for those that get in their way."

"But when Persephone-"

She stopped him with a cold hand against his lips. "Don't borrow trouble, Kraven. She'll come if and when she comes. Until then, all we can do is prepare."

Carriegan stood within the circle of Cúan's arms, watching the souls twine about their candles on their journey. It was debatable exactly where the souls went, but she knew deep in her bones that they went somewhere, for why else would they be journeying so visibly? Her dark violet eyes followed their progress, her cobweb drape loose against Cúan's chest and legs. It was something they'd done every year at Avistrum, the girls coming out after the ball to light the candles for the dead.

Would someone eventually light candles for them, she wondered. Would their souls travel to the school as a safe haven against ghouls, waiting for the midnight between All Hallow's and All Saint's for a handful of students to light the candles giving them guidance? What would the journey be like?

Cúan's lips brushed against her hear and she snuggled more firmly against his chest, resting her head against his shoulder. For now, this journey was enough; she'd worry about other journies later.

An hour passed, and there were no more spirit lights to be scene. The witching hour, as it was so often called, had finished. Kushiel blew out her candle, watching the smoke trail upwards in dancing spirals. She heard the slight puffs of air as those behind her followed her example, until the only worldly light was the lantern above the fountain.

They stood in the near-complete darkness for a silent moment, then Clark let out his breath. "Time to go back to your dorms, ladies."

The girls nodded, saying their goodbyes to Aidan and the McCulloughs before vanishing back into the school. Clark watched the door close behind them, then levered himself down to sit on the first step. The others followed him a heartbeat later.

Sachiko broke the silence. "I told you the cocker spaniel wasn't Aurelia."

Tyler laughed and shook his head ruefully. "She seemed to have too much energy to be anyone else. Though Elowen did make sense, she's chipper enough in Magical Creatures."

"Sabina as the peacock, who was surprised there," Polonius chuckled, pulling off the giant treasure troll head and setting it on the step in front of him. "Although Gwen as a beta, that was interesting."

"Elena made a perfect sparrow," Robin said softly. "She's such a gentle soul."

"Aurelia's flightly enough for a butterfly, that's to be sure," Tyler laughed. "Although Raven as a tiger did surprise me."

"Well, she was hardly about to take her namesake, that would have been entirely too predictable," Kraven drawled.

"Carriegan as a black widow was hardly surprising, for all that she loathes spiders," Sachiko said thoughtfully. "Although I get the feeling that Cúan might actually manage to stick around for a little while."

"Cliona as a bunny…even with the name of the band, I never would have pictured," Robin laughed.

"And Kush as a panther," Clark mused. "It fits."

Polonius smiled, absently brushing through the head's wig. "It certainly does. It fits them all, in a way. Wildcats, but tame enough for the moment."

"For the slightest moment," Kraven corrected dryly, and they laughed. Yes, that was certainly true.

"We should probably get some rest," Clark groaned, pushing himself to his feet. "SWAT's sending someone out tomorrow to meet with us on our progress on the painter."

"What progress?"

"Exactly."

Robin lightly touched the Headmaster's elbow as passed. "Are we telling him about the attack on Kushiel?"

He stared down at her, his nearly black eyes lost in the darkness. "No," he said finally. "I don't want them taking over the school if they feel that will get them closer."

"But if he should attack someone else…"

"He can't get in now," he reminded her. "Haddi's gone."

"True." She accepted his hand in rising and brushed off her quite gown. The warming charm had been gradually wearing off, and now it was getting downright cold. "Good night."

'Good night, Robin," the other professors chorused. They all rose to their feet and headed off to check on their students before retiring to their own beds, the Headmaster making his own rounds after the other professors had finally retired. Only when he was assured that everyone in his charge was safe and in bed did he return to his own room, change into his pajamas, and fall gratefully into bed.


	12. Legally Sinful

**Disclaimer: Neither are mine, how very sad is that?**

_A/N: Okies, a quick adjustment to some things. Number one, Elena's last name is no longer Silverstaff, and no, I'm not telling you why, you'll figure it out soon enough. Just follow the Elena bit, and it shouldn't be too confusing. Number two, I know I had said in the last chappie that I wasn't going to pick it up back until the summer; you can think Cliona, Aurelia, Carriegan, Elena, and Guy that it's being toyed with now. As, always, please review, the reviews are what make it interesting. That and if the review piques my interest, I reply. Just ask around._

_A/N2: Just because it's been awhile since I did this: kudos out to Cliona, Carriegan, Aurelia, Elena, Elowen, and Guy, my fellow students (mostly) and junkies. :D_

_A/N3: I know, don't you get sick of these? Anyhoo, to those who know Hein…please don't kill me! ducks behind computer to spare her any thrown objects Everyone else had a boy, I wanted to have a toy to play with, too!_

**Chapter Twelve: Legally Sinful**

Carriegan Ellette Chantrea awoke with her hand firmly gripping her wand, wide violet eyes quickly scanning the room before she made any movements. Two of her roommates were still asleep, the other two apparently already gone for the day, Kush being one of the latter. Cautiously, she slid silently from the bed and crept into the bathroom, entering it with her wand held at the ready.

Satisfied that no one else was in the bathroom, she showered quickly, her wand well within reach due to the water repelling charm she cast on it. She used more charms to get ready. She didn't normally; she enjoyed creating the masterpiece by hand, but this was a day that demanded efficiency, and that meant magic. She dressed with equal economy of speed, her grey and white uniform with its silver and green tie impeccable as always. With her hair in long, plum ringlets for the day, she picked up her notebooks and shrunk them down into the elegant purse that she used in lieu of a backpack.

She kept her back to the wall as she tiptoed down the hallway towards the common room, only to find the room completely empty. Creeping out of the portrait hall, she slunk out of the dungeons towards her first class. She'd taken a bit of a lie in, it was her privilege every once in a while, and had no wish for breakfast. She thought longingly of her traditional morning cuppa, but there was no way she was going anywhere near the Great Hall today.

When she got to Defense Against Dark Magic, she eyed her cohorts suspiciously, but they simply said good morning and resumed preparing for their test on the history of the Unforgiveable Curses. Eyes narrowed warily, she joined them.

It continued that way all through the day, and she got progressively more jittery as time passed. When Kushiel reached across her to pick up a bottle in Potions, she'd jumped so badly she'd spilled extra dragon's blood into her cauldron and caused the entire thing to explode. Her friend and housemate didn't even snicker, which did nothing for her nerves, even as she went to the infirmary and had the abnormally taciturn Callum slather cooling slave over her arm.

She attended Quidditch practice that night after dinner, working out her frustrations and tension on the poor little Snitch; by the time the practice was done, it's silver wings dropped in exhaustion, and one of its tiny metal feathers was off kilter, making it limp slightly as it flew. Guiltily, she made a mental note to tell Professor Bloodthorne, the arbiter of all things Quidditch for the students, about it in the morning.

As she came back out onto the Pitch after putting away her broom, every single light in the stands went out. Her wand came out in a flash, her ears straining to hear. Her first thought was to cast _Lumos_, but that would alert whoever was out there to her exact location. She stood stock still for a full two minutes, not wanting to betray her position with any noise, when the lights suddenly came back on, blindingly bright.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CARRIEKINS!" A cluster of female voices shouted from all over the stands.

When the spots cleared from her eyes, she looked around and found Colubrae and Chantrea banners hung over the normal school and house banners on the stands. Her friends looked down at her, broad grins on their faces, and she gave a resigned smile in reply.

"I admit, I was expecting something different," she called out.

"We know," Cli retorted cheekily. "That's why we did this instead."

Carriegan shook her head as the girls walked down from the stands to the soft sand of the Pitch. Every year, starting with their very first, they'd started November 14th in some obnoxious, embarrassing, and pranking way, telling her that it was a necessary way of celebrating her birthday. Each year, no matter how cautious she was, they found a way to surprise her. She had been determined this year that they would not be able to do anything; she hadn't counted on them using her wariness against her.

Aurelia bounded up to her, blonde pigtails bouncing behind her, and held out a brightly wrapped red and gold package. "Happy birthday!" she gushed.

Sculpted violet eyebrows rose at the sight of the paper. "You expect me to touch anything in those colors?"

The Parador rolled her eyes and thrust the box forward again.

She took it gingerly, settling down onto the soft white sand. The others dropped down around her, more packages gathering in her lap.

"And we'll be celebrating more properly tomorrow night," Kush murmured in her ear so that the other's couldn't hear. "When we don't have to be in class in the morning."

With a wicked grin, Carriegan shredded the red and gold paper and opened the slim box, finding a slim, almost cylindrical object inside. She arched her eyebrows at Aurelia who murmured something, and it began to tremble in her hand. "Very nice," was all she said, carefully storing it back in the box and setting it aside. "Thank you."

Elena blushed and shook her head. "Here, Carr, mine next."

She opened the large, somewhat thin box covered in soft green paper, lifting up an elegant black cocktail dress. "That's beautiful, how did you-"

"Piewacket gave me your measurements," she chuckled. "He said you've been complaining about your other ones."

"Thank you." She put the dress back in the box and placed it next to Aurelia's, reaching for the next one.

When all was said and done, she had received, in addition to the two previous, two books (_Jinxs for the Jaundiced Jade_, by Jasmine Jeveruex, and _Skirting the Poison: 100 Illicit But Not Technically Illegal Potions_, by Warilee Weinburg), a stunning jewelry set, a new top of the line Vittier purse, a pair of strappy black stilettos with green snakes twining about the buckle, a gift certificate to Vivacious Vixens, and a trim leather coat laden with warming charms to counter the sleekness. There was no cake or ice cream, no candles, but among the group, there were four who knew the flames of the candles could easily be settled another way, when it was most appropriate.

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Friday flew by, and soon, Carriegan, Aurelia, Cliona, and Kushiel were gathered in the Colubrae seventh year girls' bathroom, putting the finishing touches on their apparel and overall appearance. They had allowed the birthday girl to choose the theme for the night, and she had chosen to honor their resident leprechaun. Once, when they had allowed him to enter into one of their brainstorming sessions for appreciation of his devious mind, he had chortled that he felt like an ace in the midst of the four queens. Since that point, he had called them that exclusively, each of them being gifted with a suit. For this night, Carriegan had decreed that they would be the queens in truth.

As Hearts, Carriegan had once again morphed her hair into the long violet ringlets, small ruby heart pins holding the curls back away from her face. A slinky white dress slithered along her body, a long slit up one side revealing her thigh, tiny red hearts beaded and embroidered along every hem. A large cut out in her dominant shape showed generous cleavage, ruby hearts dangling from her neck and ears. Ruby red heels glittered at her feet, and a large red heart was painted over one eye.

Aurelia, having heard from Cliona that Aidan was planning on being at Howl, had dressed to induce cardiac arrest. Large black pasties in the shape of clubs covered, barely, her smallish breasts, a thin silver chain connecting them in front and around her back, as well, as draping up around her neck. Long black pants, so tight as to be nearly painted on, had cut out clubs marching down the length of both sides, with clubs dangling at her neck and ears. Her hair was in its ever present pigtails, with a club painted in black over one baby blue eye.

Cliona was normally more reserved in her dress on these trips to Howl when she wasn't playing with her brothers, but she had been prevailed upon in the nature of the birthday gift to really give Callum a show. She seemed almost modest from the front, a deep red shirt clinging tightly around her neck and down her generous curves, leaving her toned arms bare. The back, however, was cut out in the shape of a giant spade, trimmed in black, with a matching and much smaller cut out between her breasts in front. A knee length black skirt flowed with her as she moved, knee high leather boots giving her added height. She wore her jewelry as the others did, but the thin silver chain looped through the multiple piercings of her ears before dangling down to the spades in the final holes. She, too, wore a spade painted in black over her left eye.

Diamonds was left to Kushiel, and she touted them with pride. A strapless minidress hugged her tightly in black and deep red diamonds, ending at her mid-thighs with a slit on one side flirting even higher. Knee-high black leather boots, like Cliona's, nonetheless left a great deal of leg remaining bare. A choker of ruby diamonds, transfigured from glass for the night, encircled her throat, matching set dangling from her ears, and her left eye sported the large red diamond, her blood red hair up in two buns with two carefully straightened shorter wisps left to frame her face.

Gazing at the image they made in the mirror, making final adjustments to make-up, Cliona could almost feel sorry the poor fools at the club, their assorted boys included. They had no idea what was about to descend upon them. Right before they left the bathroom, Kushiel drank down the potion that allowed her to drink without receiving any of the effects of the alcohol, their guardian for the night as she often was.

"Um, we might want to wear cloaks, at least until we get to the school gates," the Engimite pointed out as they walked out into the dorm. "We have to pass the professors in order to meet up with the boys in the entrance hall."

Sighing, Aurelia twirled one pigtail around her finger. "We already got their permission to go, why do they care what we wear?"

"Because they're our professors, and they're theoretically supposed to be giving us guidance of virtue and morality as well?" Cliona answered, smirking to relay her opinion of the statement.

"I dunno," Carriegan shrugged. "It might be kind of funny to let them see. It's not all _that_ inappropriate." Three pairs of eyes all shifted to regard Aurelia, then each other. "Okay, maybe it is," the metamorphmagus conceded. "We should still be able to have some fun with them, though."

"What if we wore them just to the entrance hall?" Kush suggested. "Then we could give them to the house elves to bring back to our rooms, and the profs would see just a hint of it before we walked out the door."

"I like it," Carriegan mused. "We'll do it."

Eyeing the redhead as she dug through her trunk for two cloaks, Cliona grinned wryly. "They're never gonna know what hit them."

"That's the idea," the Irish girl chuckled, handing her a spare. "Would it be nearly as fun otherwise?"

"I'm sure you'd find a way."

Gesturing to the lycan to precede her into the hallway, Kush whipped out her wand from its hiding place down her boot and furtively shortened her friend's skirt by several inches, smiling innocently at her when she turned around. "Show, remember?"

The four put their cloaks on before emerging into the common room, the other Colubraes ignoring the rather normal sight of a Parador and an Enigmus within their domain. It was against school rules, but they weren't about to go against Carriegan and Kushiel by saying anything about it to the professors; either girl would hex them without hesitation, detention be damned. Some things were all about principle, and if they got a detention for it, at least the other student would have learned the hard lesson that you don't go against your own house.

Standing in the entrance hall with Cúan, Aidan, and the professors, Callum heard them before anyone else, turning to glance down the hall. He almost wished he hadn't. He could only see their faces, but simply the wicked gleam in their eyes and the suits of card playing across each face made him fear the absolute worst. It brought to mind the last time he'd made a trip to Howl with them, and that had been disastrous and dangerous enough. Cliona sidled up to him and into the curve of his side while he was trying not to shudder, and he smiled down at her. "Hello, bun."

"Hello," she answered. "Are you ready?"

"How could I possibly be?"

As Aurelia and Carriegan greeted their dates and headed towards the door, Clark pulled Kush aside for their customary review of the rules. No magic in front of the muggles, nothing illegal by wizarding or muggle standards, return by two, all of the normal strictures. While he was so occupied, Professors Ward, Bloodthorne, and Kobiyashi were receiving quite the eyeful as one by one, the other three girls removed their cloaks upon exiting.

"How on earth is she-"

Kraven glanced over at the shocked Sachiko Kobiyashi, shaking his head. "She's your charms student, surely you could answer that question far better than we could?"

Tyler sighed as his Enigmus student disappeared out the door. "And here we all thought Cliona was the sane and modest one."

The Headmaster, however, had missed the small scale show, and failed to notice his three colleagues staring at Kushiel with something akin to mounting apprehension. She picked up on it, however, and an impish little smile tugged at her blood red lips.

"Yes, sir," she replied to his last recount of the rules. She could promise two of the three major rules, and if she skirted around the edges of logistics, she could promise the second, which was good enough for her.

"You girls have fun, then," he instructed.

"Thank you, sir." She headed towards the door, then stopped and looked back over her shoulder innocently. "Would it be at all possible to have the house elves return our cloaks to the Colubrae dorm? It would raise eyebrows if we took them with us."

"Of course."

Shrugging her shoulders, she allowed her cloak to slither to the floor, revealing her abbreviated dress a heartbeat before slipping through the door.

Dark brown eyes almost painfully wide, Clark stared at the door for a long moment. "So I'm thinking next time we need to apply a dress code?" he suggested after a time, barely keeping his voice from cracking.

"As if they'd follow it." Kraven shook his head again. "As long as we don't hear about any of it, I think I might just be glad not to know."

"Wouldn't Sticking Charms hurt against the skin, though?"

The Head of Colubrae turned to blink at Sachiko, who stood with a slight frown on her face. "I didn't actually mean for you to figure out the logistics of that impossible outfit," he informed her.

"I know. It's interesting, though."

"Who's outfit?"

Trading significant looks, the three Dark Hunters silently decided not to relate the other three costumes to their leader. He had enough on his mind, really, with the increasing activity of Persephone and Her minions, and running the school, and working with the government, he really didn't need the added stress of worrying about his students running amok in scanty clothing in the middle of muggle clubs. That's what they told themselves anyway.

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Callum tried not to stare as they all gathered in the alley outside the club, he really did, but even her Halloween costume hadn't revealed quite so much of Cliona as was showing now. He felt the irrational urge to Apparate back to Avistrum to retrieve her cloak and bundle her up in it, hiding her from the eyes of every male just beyond the walls of Howl. She looked just…just…his mind failed to come up with a suitable description, and he hadn't been able to say a word the entire walk to the gates. She looked bloody hot!

As bowled over as he was, however, he could nonetheless take the step back to appreciate Aidan's response to Aurelia. The reluctant date had turned nearly white, choking on the breath he'd been in the process of taking at the doors, and he resolutely refused to look at her during their walk. Callum imagined that would change, though, once they got inside and the perky blonde started dancing. He was very sure that his fellow lycan's golden eyes would be trained on those two clubs for all he was worth once the dancing started.

Kushiel pulled the fake ids from her left boot, the one opposite the wand, and handed them to their respective people, including Cúan and Aidan. Aurelia and Carriegan had very carefully made them the night before after the present opening.

Cliona's brother glanced at the others. "Hey, can you go ahead and grab us a spot in line? We'll be there in a minute."

His sister rolled her eyes and walked around the corner of the building without another word, dragging Callum along behind her. Shrugging, the other three followed. Cúan smiled down at Carriegan and reached down, with some difficulty, into the pocket of his tight black leather pants. "I wanted to give you your birthday present in person," he explained, pulling his hand out. He clasped the elegant platinum chain with its matching heart shaped locket around her neck.

She reached out and it fell open at her touch, showing the pictures inside. The one of the left was of Cúan in his human form, green eyes laughing out of the photo. The right side held him under the full moon, his tongue lolling out in a lupine chuckle. "Cúan, it's…thank you!" she breathed, kissing him soundly.

"Come on, let's join the others," he told her, grinning.

They entered the club without mishap, though one of the bouncers regarded Aurelia with bulging eyes. She smiled brightly and winked at him, causing Aidan to growl and grab her arm, yanking her through the door with him.

Kush trained her eyes over the room, breaking into a broad smile. "Hey, Hein is here!" She led the way to the bar, the other girls close behind, and leaned over the edge, flashing a more than generous share of cleavage. "Hein!"

One of the bartenders turned around, smoky brown eyes taking them all in before giving them a lopsided smile. "Ah, so you little hellions are back again." A bald spot gleamed atop his head, matched by the closely shaved sides and back, and he absently wiped out a glass with a cloth before setting it down on the bar. He was tall and broad, black button down shirt revealing toned, but not definite, muscles, the sleeves rolled back to his elbows. He wore a white apron tied around his waist to protect his black pants, his craggy face genuinely pleased to see them. "It's been quite a while."

"It's Carriekins birthday," Aurelia giggled, ignoring the swipe the other girl sent at her for the public use of a private nickname. "Got any candles for her, Heinrich?"

The thirty-five year old bartender eyed them all thoughtfully. He had his suspicions that these girls weren't actually legal, but if they were good enough to get past his bouncers, he made it a point not to ask. "I might have something," he answered casually, reaching underneath the bar. He poured out seven shots and pulled out a long match, touching it to the surface of each. "Quickly now, before it burns off!"

Six of them, followed a heartbeat later by Callum, grabbed the small glasses and knocked back the liquor, the flames extinguishing as soon as the alcohol hit their tongues. Callum choked on his as he set the glass back down.

"Happy birthday, and I hope you had time to make your wish," Hein chuckled. "Ladies drink free tonight, so sorry, boys, you'll have to pay."

Bubbling with laughter, Aurelia leaned forward to kiss Hein on the cheek and pulled a strongly resisting Aidan to the dance floor, followed a moment later by Carriegan and Cúan. Cliona glanced at the redhead. "You want some company?"

"Nah, go ahead." She shrugged and slid onto the high stool in front of the bartender, leaning forward onto her elbows. "I'll stay here with the boyo until something more interesting comes along."

Satisfied that her best friend wouldn't be feeling left out, Cliona dragged her boyfriend onto the floor.

"Um, Cli, I really don't dance."

"Don't be silly, it's fun."

"No, really, I really, truly can't dance."

She regarded him for a moment, her hazel eyes thoughtful. She tugged him all the way across the floor to a dark corner, pulling his arms around her. "Trust me," she breathed in his ear. "There's a lot of different ways to dance." Caressing his cheek, she slowly swayed her hips into him, kissing softly against the line of his jaw. He leaned down to meet her mouth, and when she ground her hips into him again, he growled and pushed her back against the wall, his own hips thrusting in response. Not paying any attention to the beat of the music or the presence of so many people crowding up against them, the pair continued their own dance.

Aidan, however, flatly refused to dance, and quickly found himself abandoned for a more willing partner. Shoving his strawberry blonde hair out of his face in frustration, he looked about, trying to find where the aggravating Parador had disappeared to, only to see her sliding up and down the length of some random guy's body. He stalked to the bar, standing fuming next to Kushiel as she spoke to the bartender, their heads extremely close together to avoid shouting as much as possible. One of the other tenders slid him a drink, conveniently forgetting to ask him for payment when he fingered his wand, and he nursed it furiously.

Cúan displayed none of his fellow males' reticence. He ground against Carriegan, his hands on her ass bringing her even closer into him. She kept her face in the crook of his neck as they danced, inhaling his spicy scent, her hands fluttering teasingly against his chest. For once, the many guys that would normally have asked her to dance didn't come near; it was very clear to them that if she wasn't taken, she was at least territorial, her right leg hooked up around his waist. From time to time, they'd share a sweet kiss that had nothing to do with the pounding beat of the music.

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Kush gathered them all together at ten to two, herding them carefully outside to the alleyway. From down her cleavage, she produced the handkerchief portkey, stretching it out between all seven of them and making sure each person had a strong grip on it. Her head was feeling slightly fuzzy, which meant that she's finally found the alcohol limit of the wonderful potion, but she could still think fairly straight, and she managed to get them walking the correct direction away from the gates without difficulty.

Aidan was frowning, a low, feral growl rumbling in his throat the entire time. He was one of the very few who could creep her out while drunk. She knew he was drunk, and his walk was distinctly unsteady, yet there was a grim determination to his face that didn't bode well for Aurelia the next time the pair were in proximity. Fortunately for the blonde, she was passed out over his shoulder, the portkey trip proving to be the final tip off the edge of the alcohol rush. She could hold her liquor slightly better than Callum, but not much.

Once in the entrance hall, she pulled out her wand and levitated Aurelia off Aidan's shoulder, handing him the second portkey, this one heading to the Den. They vanished from sight, and she turned to the others. "Callum, bed," she ordered firmly, reaching out with the hand not holding the wand to physically separate him and Cliona. Reluctantly, the two moved apart with a last, lingering kiss, and the three still walking girls, although the steadiness of said movement was highly in question, headed back to the dungeons.

The redhead didn't even try for undressing, she simply dropped Aurelia in Carriegan's bed and gently pushed the thoroughly celebrated birthday girl down next to her. Peeling off the boots, she laid down on her own bed and tugged on Cliona's arm to bring her toppling down next to her. Hopefully, sleep would prove sufficient to remove her slight buzz; hangover potions really were foul, as if they were mocking the already extant disinclination to keep anything down.

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When she awoke in the morning, her bedmate's arm sprawled across her throat, it was with a mercifully clear head, although it did nothing for the foul taste in her mouth. She slid out carefully from under the arm and trudged into the bathroom, stripping off her clothes as she went and leaving them on the floor for the moment. She stood under the steaming spray of the shower for nearly ten minutes, just letting it wash over her, before she actually started to wash herself. She brushed her teeth while in the water, getting the heaviness from her tongue and lips.

Emerging from the shower, she ignored the fogged up mirror and headed back into the bedroom, wrapped in a dark green towel. She picked up the discarded clothing and set it in the hamper for the house elves, eying her trunk as she considered what to wear. It was a Saturday, a Saturday with no demands on her time, but as tempting as it was to simply wear pajamas, she had a feeling it might not be entirely appropriate. After several more minutes of thought, her hair dripping down onto the cold stone, she settled for a pair of long slung blue jeans, a tight emerald green sweater, and low heeled boots. She brushed her hair and plaited it back into a long French braid without returning to the bathroom, leaving the towel in the hamper with the clothing.

She left the dorm silently, checking her watch and noting with some surprise that it was only ten. She would have expected to sleep much later than that. With her backpack settled on one shoulder, she decided to avoid the noise of the brunch crowd in the Great Hall and headed to the Headmaster's office. Her stomach was rumbling in loud protest, but she told it firmly that she would ask the house elves for something when she got there. Apparently following some rule of the Headmaster, she couldn't step into his office without honestly answering the sphinx as to whether or not she'd eaten that day. If the answer was no, there was guaranteed to be a house elf just inside the door, waiting to get her something. Most of the time it was a nuisance, especially when she genuinely wasn't hungry, because the damned thing wouldn't go away until she asked for something, but today it would come quite in handy.

The sphinx eyed her and she shook her head, not even waiting for the question. The regal creature smirked and nudged open the door, revealing the house elf.

"What can Sinker get for Miss?" It squeaked.

"Um…let's try for French toast drizzled in butter, cinnamon, and caramel, with lightly crispy bacon and a huge mug of hot chocolate." She blinked as it vanished; the house elves at home usually walked out of the room before disappearing, rather than using their magic so ostentatiously.

"Hungry this morning, Kitten?" Clark laughed, looking at her over his interminable paperwork.

"Dancing is hard work," she defended with a laugh. She set down her backpack and sat down in her chair, the tray of food appearing on her desk.

"You girls had fun, then?"

"Oh, tons," she answered around a mouthful of French toast. She really was hungry, and she ate steadily.

He cleared his throat and she glanced up at him, licking a smear of caramel from her lower lip. "Is that how you girls…normally…dress, when you go out?" he asked tentatively.

Hiding her grin, she shook her head and took a careful sip of hot cocoa, a dab of whipped cream clinging to the tip of her nose. She swiped it off and sucked on the pad of her index finger, determined not to let any bit of the delicious and well earned breakfast go to waste. "No, not at all," she assured. "That was simply because it was Carr's birthday."

"Good," he breathed with relief. "You girls had me worried." He set down the parchment and noted the sparkling gleam in her emerald eyes with trepidation. "I had good cause to be worried?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," she stated sweetly. "We've never dressed like that before last night."

"Any particular reason why not?" he queried curiously.

"Our theme has never been the Queens before." She bit down delicately on a strip of bacon, tearing it with her teeth.

"So how do you normally dress?" He could feel the relief bleeding away, and he had the sinking feeling it wouldn't be long before it was entirely shot to hell.

"It depends on what our theme is," she shrugged. "Sometimes we don't have a particular theme, so we dress however we want to, but sometimes we choose a theme. Then we dress appropriately."

"For example?"

"Why the sudden interest in fashion, sir?" She polished off the breakfast, wiping her mouth on the napkin, and settled back into her chair, the mug of hot cocoa cupped between her hands to warm them.

"Your…apparel…seems designed to attract a great deal of attention."

"Oh, it does," she chuckled, pretending not to notice his discomfort. "We get all sorts of compliments on it."

"I'm sure," he replied dryly. He plucked at the edges of the form he was supposed to be filling out and sending to the Cabinet chief. "What I was wondering was if… well, do you always…what I mean to say is…"

"My ruin is now complete," Lsyander sighed from his plaque. "I was beaten by a man who can't even form a coherent sentence."

Kushiel snickered behind her mug, trying to decide whether or not to save the floundering Headmaster. A look at Bast's amusement, evident in the lazy twitching of her tail, decided her. How could she possibly pass up such versatile and broad reaching amusement? "Do you mean to ask if we dress in the same general style each time, sir?"

"Yes," he gasped, the relief flooding back into his face. "Yes, that's it exactly."

"I guess you'll have to wait and see, then, won't you?"

Clark stared at her as she calmly set her mug on the desk and pulled out her notes on the latest reports. After several minutes, however, when it became obvious that she was fully intending on immersing herself in the research, he attempted to close his gaping jaw and refocus on his work.

Lysander frowned pensively, his eyes narrowed on the girl. "Renfield," he snapped softly, so the other two wouldn't hear him.

The small brown mouse scampered down his face and perched on the edge of his long nose, forcing him to look at the creature cross-eyed. "I need you to do something."

Renfield cocked his head to one side, his beady black eyes bright as he listened to the request. With a small squeak, he scurried down the remainder of the former vampire's face and down the wall, clambering up the student's leg. She looked at him as he climbed all the way up onto her shoulder.

"Well, hello, Renfield," she greeted, gently stroking his soft head. "What brings you so far away from Batboy?"

The mouse ran back the way it had come, racing up the wall to murmur in Lysander's ear.

The former lord of Transylvania smiled cruelly, his fangs showing clearly. "Who bit you, Fire-hair?" he asked evilly.

Her eyes shot up to his, but although her hand twitched, it didn't change position. "What are you talking about, Lysander?"

"I know bites, girlie, and I know a bite when I see one. I was just wondering who did the honors. Anyone I know?" he leered. "Would you like a matching one of the other side? Come closer, I'll be happy to oblige."

"Kitten?" Clark asked with concern.

Glaring at the mounted head, Kush shook her head. "No worries on that score, sir," she assured him, still scowling at the vampire.

"What is he talking about?"

"Fire-hair has a love bite," he crowed, gleeful as he watched her flush hotly. He chortled as her hand rose to cover the purple and red mark where her shoulder flowed into her neck. "Who gave you the bite, Fire-hair?"

"Jealous, Batboy?" she retorted coolly. "The last love bite you received was from Excalibur, after all."

It wasn't fair, he decided. All he had to go off of was a lousy hickey; she had the ten years since his mostly death at the hands of the Headmaster.

Clark settled back into his chair, not entirely certain how to deal with the conflicting emotions raised within him as his attention was called to the souvenir. He picked up his quill, tapping it against the desk. "So, you girls really had fun last night," he noted.

She shrugged, eyes falling back to her notes as she compared and contrasted Her earliest methods with Her most recent. "It was a night at Howl," she said simply. "That's just part of what it is."

They worked in silence until she finally left the office several hours later.

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The girls assembled together for dinner at the Lobostro tables, joining back with the extended members of their group. Those who were looking for it could see the telltale glimmer of the glamours Aurelia had applied over her numerous hickeys. So far as they could tell, though it was difficult to be sure, not one of them appeared to be from the same person. Cliona had no doubt that it was indeed the case; when she'd floo called home to check on Cúan's safe arrival, her brother had laughingly mentioned that Aidan was angry as a dog fenced in from the mailman. She was almost positive the hickeys on the blonde girl's neck had something to do with that mood.

She and Callum sat down hand in hand across from Kushiel and Elena, their food appearing as always on their plates. "You were up early this morning," she noted, awkwardly trying to eat her rice and soy sauce with her fork held in her left hand.

"I wasn't drunk," the Colubrae retorted quietly, a grin tugging at her lips.

Elena's wide blue eyes narrowed, inspecting Kush's neck. "I didn't know you were seeing anyone," she commented.

"I'm not."

"Then who gave you that huge hickey?"

Elena's words fell during one of those unfortunate pauses in conversation, that half heartbeart where very separate thread, as if synchronized, stops to take a breath, and the redhead soon found herself the object of many inquisitive stares from her friends. They crowded together, each trying to catch a glimpse of it, and she tugged feebly at the neck of her sweater.

"Who were you making out with?" Carriegan demanded fiercely, violet eyes flashing. Friends were supposed to share these things, after all, but she'd been much too wrapped up in Cúan to notice much of anything else. Her platinum locket swung forward from around her neck, nearly dipping into Raven's bowl of soup.

Kushiel mumbled something unintelligible, which only served to heighten their curiosity further. Cliona kicked her none too lightly under the tale. "Spill," she ordered heartlessly.

"Hein," muttered the Irish girl, and the three girls from Howl hit the table laughing.

"I can't believe it!" Carriegan snickered, tears gleaming in her eyes. "You made out with the bartender?"

"He's not just a bartender, he's Hein," she snapped defensively. "He's had our backs at that place for years now. Besides, everyone else had a toy, I wanted to play, too."

"And?" Aurelia breathed, eyes bright.

"And what?"

"Kush!"

Meeting Aurelia's pleading gaze, she just smirked smugly, causing the other girl to squeal.

It was the sudden rise in pitch that dragged Kraven's attention to the Lobostro table where they were gathered, and he could see the knot press even closer together. "Do I want to ask?"

"No," Clark muttered, pushing his food around his plate with his fork. "No, you really don't, because someone might just decide to tell you."

So Kraven, having had over six years of experience in dealing with this particular gaggle of girls, simply let it lie, returning to his meal.


	13. Mona Lisa's Smile

**Disclaimer: They are not mine, I merely borrow and play. And then I must return them, which I usually do. I'm a good girl like that. Weeeeeeeeeell…..mostly. I've been known to keep a couple when it suits me.**

_A/N: Please review! More reviews mean more chapters in a faster order. And we all enjoy that, don't we?_

**Chapter Thirteen: Mona Lisa's Smile**

Gwenynen Mela stood in front of the fountain, two notebooks clasped to her chest, looking down at one of her classmates. She regarded him with bemusement, her brown eyes soft and humorous. "Are you comfortable that way?"

Guy Grandison, a fellow seventh year Parador, lay sprawled on his back on the fountain of the bench, his feet crossed and propped on an outcropping of stone, his head dangling over the edge. Before his eyes he held one of his books, but Gwen had never much skill at reading upside down, so she could not make out the title. He looked up at her, his blue eyes cross-eyed for a moment as they adjusted focus on the young woman. "Quite comfortable, yes," he replied, his voice still thick with the Scottish highlands despite all his years away. "Will ye join me?"

"Um, no," she said slowly, trying not to laugh. "Hanging upside gives me a fearful headache, I'm afraid."

"Your loss, then."

"But aren't you cold?"

He grinned up at her, open and seemingly guileless. "Gwen, I grew up in Scotland. There's not even snow on the ground."

"Snow simply means it's both wet and cold."

"But it's the wet that makes it feel colder."

Smiling, she continued on inside, walking into the Great Hall and sitting down at the Student Tables with her friends. Aurelia sat puzzling over a blank piece of parchment, and Gwen couldn't help but smile. "What is it, Aurel?"

"I need to send a letter to Lily," she answered, uncharacteristically solemn. "I'd like to spend Christmas with her, but I know she worries about what Mother and Father would say."

"I thought your mother and father weren't going to know."

"She'll be worried that they will."

"Your parents are being told that you're staying with me, Clubs," Cliona reminded her lazily. "And we'll both have our cell phones, seeing as they work away from Avistrum. All it takes is a call if they ask after you, and you can apparate back in perfect safety. We've been over this a hundred times."

Blue eyes wide, Aurelia blinked owlishly. "Oh, yeah." With that reassurance, she set quill to parchment and began to write.

Shaking her head, Cliona resumed her own letter. She should truthfully have been studying for her midterms; they all should have been, but there were so many more interesting things to be doing. For now, she contented herself with informing her mother as to the latest schedule.

_Dear Mam,_

_I promise to keep this somewhat short, more for my sake than for yours. Midterms start on Monday (insert sigh here), and will end on Friday. In exactly one week, we will be free, and on our way to Ireland for Rhonwyn's wedding. We'll be there some few days; we haven't decided yet if it will be three or four. I think part of that will depend on how Kush deals with her father being home. I'd like to floo home very briefly to pick up a dress suitable for the wedding. After all, what one wears to a party isn't what one should wear to a pure-blood wedding. I was thinking maybe the light green dress I wore to Uncle Quinlan's wedding? That should be appropriate, don't you think?_

_Aurelia is worried about her parents finding out about her trip to Lily. It is no simple fear, I guess, but it is odd to see her so concerned about it. Normally, it is only her appearance which engenders this much solemnity, and even that is often called into question. I think it a mark of how much she cares for her elder sister, which is sweet. _

_But, I promised to keep this short, so that you may know I'm off to my studies. You see what a good daughter I am, that I reassure you so well? And how studious and hard-working? _

_All right, I'll cut the crap. I love you._

_Cliona_

She folded it carefully and sealed it with her wand, slipping it into her messenger bag to take up to the owlery later. She turned to say something to Aurelia and stopped, her hazel eyes wide.

"What is it, Spades?" Carriegan asked, noting her friend's stunned gaze.

"Nothing," she chuckled, shaking her head. "Fin's amusing himself again."

They all turned to see a second year boy chasing after the leprechaun, who had a sneaker in hand. Matching bemused grins took over their faces as they leaned chins on fists to watch. Fineus Finbarr Fergus Flannagan Fitzgerald led the boy on a merry chase the entire way around the Great Hall, vaulting over tables and students alike whenever it suited him. Laughter followed him and the boy, who was beginning to realize that the likelihood of getting his shoe back was slim at the most.

"It only took a year and a half, but I think TJ may finally have learned," Raven observed, and the girls snickered.

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In the Headmaster's office, a gathering of another kind was in process. The Dark Hunters perched wherever they could find a space, which was becoming increasingly difficult as Clark got further and further behind in his paperwork. Kraven Bloodthorne, with Sachiko Kobiyashi enfolded in his arms, stood leaning against the shelves directly beneath the plaque that held Lysander's head. "What have we heard from the government?" he asked.

"Nothing," Clark sighed. "There have been absolutely no reports of the painter since the middle of October. It's as if he's run to ground."

"Perhaps he has. After all, we had him pressed fairly closely for a while; he might well choose to be quiet until he thinks we've forgotten him."

"Is he really that smart?" Sachiko wondered. "We've proof of his talent, such as it is, but none of his intelligence."

"According to our new theory, they're not stupid, just deranged." He held up a sheaf of papers covered in Kushiel's small, neat writing. "The only safety we have is there probably won't be another person until this one is captured or killed."

"Really?" Tyler leaned his head back, absently counting back in his mind. "Huh, that's a connection I wouldn't have made. But there's only ever one, you're right."

"Our researcher copied the dates in her notes." He gestured behind Tyler to Kush's small desk, covered in three neat stacks of parchment. "She makes a separate sheet for each set of permutations. One of them simply listed the name or title of the minion and the dates they were giving us problems, in the order of the reports. When she had it all lined up, this pattern came out of it."

"But why? She could accomplish much more if She had more than one minion at a time."

"Not if what She's trying to accomplish is the advancement of the one."

Polonius cleared his throat meaningfully, a frown creasing his face. "I have a great deal of respect for Kushiel as a student and researcher, but are we really basing our outlook on her theories? She's not even eighteen."

"If the theories weren't sound, no." Running a hand through his shoulder-length hair, the headmaster closed his eyes for a moment against the headache that was constantly lurking. "I ran them by Dennis Andrews, and he agrees that they make sense."

"So what do we do?"

"What can we do?" Kraven corrected, looking at the Transfiguration professor over Sachiko's head. "So long as he remains silent and inactive, we can't find him, and he doesn't seem so stupid as to give himself away.

"At least he can't get into the castle anymore," Sachiko murmured. "That's something, at least."

"Yes, I'm sure Madamoiselle de Navarre is very grateful for that," Kraven replied dryly.

"Has there been any word of Haddi?"

Clark shook his head to Tyler's question. "No, nor do I believe there will be any. The house elves know to keep an eye out for him should he return, but there is simply no way to find an elf if you are not its family."

"So we do nothing," Polonius muttered. "I hate this."

"If the theories are right, as they seem to be, it's simply a matter of time before She, or he for that matter, gets too desperate to see the work resumed."

"General Barker is impatient, though," Tyler noted. "He is not going to take well to a wait and see approach."

"He's not going to have much of a choice."

"Do you think they'll try anything over winter break?" A small squeak sounded in the office and Sachiko reached up to stroke the tiny bat hidden within her long blonde hair. "Peace, Vieruss," she murmured.

"If they do, they'll find an empty school," Clark answered, leaning back and stretching into his large chair. "The letters we sent the parents worked, and every single student will be going home for the break. And if not home, with a friend."

"What letters?"

"Sachiko, Kraven, and I sent the parents letters back in October explaining that there were going to be some renovations and reinforcements done over the holidays, and the children wouldn't be able to stay. They believed it, thank Merlin."

"How many parents do you think really expect the Headmaster to lie to them?" Kraven smirked and shook his head. "Of course they believed you."

"We'll need to confer with Evangeline," Sachiko noted. "When the painter does reappear from his hole, we'll need to be ready. Perhaps she would have some ideas on how to improve the armor."

"What, so that we don't shred each other to bits? Where's the fun in that?"

Without looking back, or even changing her expression, the Charms professor and Deputy Headmistress calmly elbowed the man in the ribs.

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Sunday evening at dinner, Clark noticed a large gap in the Colubrae tables, where the girls would normally have been sitting. "They're not there, should I be worried?" he whispered to Sachiko, settling himself into his seat at the center of the High Table.

"No, they're there." She pointed to the gap with her fork. "They're underneath it, that's all."

"Underneath…" He blinked rapidly, then decided that he simply didn't want to know.

"How in the name of Circe can they expect us to remember all this?" Elowen wailed, burying her face in her hands. Underneath the Colubrae tables, the nine girls had their textbooks and notebooks spread around them. Midterms started the next morning, and not a one of them was looking forward to them.

Aurelia gravely reached out and stroked the southern belle's light brown hair. "Kitty."

"Mrmph!" Carriegan shook her head and flipped a page in her Divinations textbook. She wasn't too worried about that one, it was one of her strengths.

Sabina closed her Arithmancy book and sighed. "This is such a waste of time," she groaned. "We either know it or we don't; what's the point in testing us on it?"

"Their own sick amusement?" Cliona suggested, leaning against Kushiel's back and reading from her Care of Magical Creatures book.

"I'd believe it," her friend muttered, checking off an item on her Charms study guide.

Raven looked up at the sudden, loud sound of beating wings. "That's funny, owls usually come at breakfast."

"That's an awful lot of owls for a special delivery," Elowen noted with a slight frown.

Closing her Charms book, Kushiel climbed out from under the table, straightening to look around. Two large packages, wrapped in plain brown paper, were being carried to each set of tables by eagle owls, several to each package because of the size. They dropped them on the tables and soared away without waiting to get any kind of treat, and a furrow appeared between her eyes as she glanced quickly up at the High Table.

At the Enigmus tables, the same second year who'd been chasing after Fineus and his shoe two days before eagerly tore into one of the packages, followed by other younger students. As the paper fell away, Kushiel could see in one of them the blank, stapled side of a canvas, and she froze. More was torn away, and she blanched. "Headmaster!" She cried over the curious chatter. "Sir, they're paintings!"

Clark looked to Sachiko in confusion. "What is she saying?"

The second year Enigmus boy stared down into the painting as it was revealed, the color draining from his face.

Swearing, the Irish girl vaulted over the table, casting a Sticking Charm on the paper covering the two packages at Colubrae table. She raced up the aisle to the dais. "Sir, they're paintings," she repeated over the increasing tumult. "They're paintings!"

The other girls emerged from their study haven, looking around. A first year Parador unveiled one of the canvases and held it up for the others to see. An entire section of students fell silent, their eyes captured by the violent, clashing images. Aurelia walked over to it, running her hand across the paint, the pupils in her eyes growing to drown all else.

"Hey, Clubs, you okay?" Carriegan asked, walking over to shake her.

Cliona shot a look up to her closest friend, remembering the small paintings in the infirmary back before school started. She'd seemed concerned then; did this have anything to do with it? Taking care not to let her eyes fall upon the art itself, she gazed around, noting the growing numbers of spellbound students.

Clark stood up so quickly his chair toppled over backwards, wand already in his hand. "Close your eyes!" he roared, and those not already entranced obeyed. The warning came too late for many, though.

The second year boy lifted his wand like an automaton and cast a Slicing Hex at one his classmates, who cried out and opened his eyes in shock, falling upon the painting.

Taking stock of the situation, Sabina took care of her own, keeping her eyes averted and forcing the students of Colubrae House underneath the tables. No harm could come to them there, she reasoned. More hexes and jinxs flew, the professors off their feet and racing into the fray. Her green eyes narrowed, Kush began firing perfectly aimed Stunners and Petrification curses, dropping the infected students like flies. Sabina and Cliona joined her in it a moment later, while Gwen, Raven, Elena, and Elowen took Sabina's example and started ushering the hale children under the tables. Injuries were occurring, though, faster than they could prevent them, while the professors attempted to take care of the paintings.

Perhaps remembering his own incident with a similar painting, Tyler snarled and grabbed a steak knife from the table, shredding one of the pieces into thin strips while keeping his head turned to the side. Kraven and Polonius followed course, once they made certain the eldest student's aim wasn't going to be so bad they'd have to dodge.

Cliona winced as she dropped the captured Carriegan with a Stunner. Oh, she was going to be hearing about that later. "Sorry, Hearts," she murmured. She aimed next at Aurelia, but Kush got to her first, while Sabina got the boy who accidentally started it all.

The professors destroyed the other paintings, save the two still covered at Colubrae, and looked around just as the last ensorcerelled student dropped to one of the seventh years.

"How could they get in?" Sachiko whispered, horrified. "Haddi's not here anymore, how did they get in?"

No one answered her, but then again, no one had any answer they could have given.

Kushiel descended the dais, wand still held firmly in her hand. "Cli," she murmured, "do you feel up to a run to the infirmary? Nurse Kayenta was going to stay with that third year with the fever."

Nodding, Cliona raced off. It was going to be a lot of strain on Nurse Kayenta; Callum and the Lupins had left early to return to England for the upcoming holidays. They never wanted to use Elena for the large disasters, wanting to spare her that until they graduated; the lycan didn't see where they were going to have a choice this time. She could hear the apprentice healer's soft footfalls slightly behind her. Bursting through the double doors, she met the startled gaze of the healer. "There's been an accident." She reported, voice only slightly breathy. She ran every full moon, after all. "There's a lot of students hurt."

"What happened?"

Elena and Cliona looked at each other and gave the only answer they knew. "There were paintings."

Robin sprang to her feet, conjuring rows and rows of cots between the beds. "Elena, go get more bandages out of storage, as many as you can carry and then go back again and get more. Cliona, go into the cabinet, get out as many pain potions as you can find and set them on my desk. Get all the strengths, we can dilute them as we need to."

"Yes, ma'am."

In the Great Hall, Guy emerged from under the Parador tables, blue eyes wide. He glanced up at Gwen and Kush. "What can I do?" he asked simply.

Sparing the professors half a glance, to where they stood discussing in tones too low to hear, she made a decision, beckoning her seventh year friends to her side. They gathered in their own huddle. "Sabina, Guy, Raven, Elowen, you stay here with the healthy ones, keep them calm. There's one of you for each house; if you feel up to it, get them back to your common rooms and keep them calm there. Order up some chocolate from the kitchens there, it'll help. Gwen, you're with me." She looked around and spotted a seventh year Engimus boy crawling out. "Artanus," she called softly, and he looked up at her. "Come help us. Kit, you, too." Another seventh year Engimus emerged and dusted off her knees.

"What are we doing, Kush?" Gwen inquired.

"We need to start getting the injured into the infirmary," she told her quartet. "Gwen, you and Kit get Enigmus, it's the worst off. Artanus, you'll get Lobostro, and I'll get Parador. There's too many to see who's the worst off. Don't worry about stretchers, there's probably no need. Just get them to the infirmary. Fin!"

The leprechaun turned away from the knot of professors, catching her eyes and gesture. He walked over to her, his normally merry face grave. "What is it, Diamonds?"

"All the profs and staff that aren't Dark Hunters, can you ask them to help us get students to the infirmary?" she asked quietly. "The others will need to stay with the paintings, but there's so many injured, more than the four of us can take care of in a reasonable amount of time."

"Of course," he agreed, clapping her on the shoulder. "Good thinking, but then, that's what I expect from my queens."

With that, Madam Scriba, Professor Greywolf, Mister Skyler, Professor Zephyr, Professor Kensington, Mister Argiletum, and Professor Avarra all joined in the relay, levitating students out the door and into the waiting infirmary. Robin pulled Kushiel off of carry duty and pressed her into service in the infirmary, setting her to much the same as that awful night back in August. She cleaned wounds as best she could with both magic and water, followed closely by Elena with bandages and charms. Robin followed after Cliona in the same pattern on the other side of the room, making their way down the long row of beds and cots. Most of the students weren't badly injured, but each one had to be attended to, and it was time consuming. Wisely, perhaps, she kept the ones who'd been stunned or petrified as they were; she didn't know how long the paintings held their influence, and she didn't want to take any chances. An hour later, when men came in wearing ordinary black government robes, she shooed them out brusquely, telling them to go bother someone else. Any questions they had could wait.

When the last Lobostro student was in, Artanus Silverstaff remained in the infirmary, going to help Elena. He had studied a small measure of Muggle first aid as a curiosity, never supposing that he'd actually need it, but it would do well in this case. She gave him a gentle smile over Carriegan's limp form and smoothed her friend's violet hair back from her forehead. "Thank you," she murmured.

"It's little enough," he replied. "What was that?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Nor are we like to find out. Whatever it is, though, it has the professors worried."

"I'd be worried, too." They continued to work in tandem, their hands brushing from time to time, both of them blushing.

Up in Parador Tower, Guy attempted to keep the students calm, which was proving much easier said than done. After Enigmus, Parador had been hardest hit, though it was probably no more than their innate house traits that had led to that, he reflected ruefully. Gwen joined him once all the injured students were in the infirmary, and between the two, they kept them quiet and still. The large amount of chocolate and hot chocolate might have had something to do with it, though. Too keyed up on adrenaline to go on a sugar high, they slowly fell asleep in the armchairs and couches, leaving the pair of seventh years in front of the fire.

"Is everyone well?" he inquired, and Gwen gave a humorless laugh.

"How could they possibly be?" She shook her head and sighed. "No one is gravely injured, but I don't know what those things did to their minds. Who knows?"

The young Scottish Laird stared into the flames, his dark curly hair shaggy about his face. "This has somewhat to do with Persephone, doesn't it?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Probably."

"Damn her," he hissed. "This is what my father sent me to America to avoid."

"Persephone isn't the same thing as Voldemort, though," she pointed out.

"You're right, Voldemort didn't attack children."

"No?" she asked tartly. "Ask Kushiel about her friend Henri sometime. Or ask Mrs. Lupin about her friend Harry."

He nodded thoughtfully and they fell silent, keeping a watch over the sleeping students.

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"Dowling, you can't tell me that you haven't got anything!"

"I'm sorry, would you like me to take back those words and feed you lies?"

"Damn it, I need something I can take to the general!"

Clark stopped and turned to the black robed man pacing beside him. "Dennis, I don't have anything you can take to the general that I have already given you. You have the intact painting, you have what very little information we've got. We don't know where he is! And without that, we can't stop him!"

"She's getting bolder." Dennis Andrews, in charge of all SWAT teams assigned to the sole purpose of Persephone Problems, as he'd learned to call the missions, was feeling somewhat helpless and adrift, and it was not a feeling he enjoyed. They had managed to keep things fairly quiet so far as the wizarding public was concerned, no mean feat in a country obsessed with instant information, but there was no possible way to keep an attack on the school a secret, especially not one of such scale, and he had absolutely nothing he could relay. He knew it wasn't Dowling's fault; the Dark Hunters had done a damned good job over the years, better, he had to admit, than any of the SWAT units, but that didn't keep him from scowling darkly at the man. They'd all gotten used to stupid enemies, and now they had one that was outwitting them at every turn.

"She can afford to be bold," Clark muttered. "We have no way to stop Her."

"Whatever you have to do, Dowling, do it," Dennis told him gravely. "Legal or not, I don't care, we'll cover it up if we have to, but you have to get that painter. This is too big."

"Dennis, it was too big the first time She caused an injury." Deep brown eyes, almost black, regarded the government man, formerly his superior, and the man took a step back from the barely contained fury. "She's attacked my school, my students," he seethed. "Nearly half of my students are in the infirmary, sharing beds and cots and some of them even lying on rugs on the floor. Do not tell me this is too big." He held up his left hand, showing the scar on his palm that Robin hadn't been able to prevent, amongst all his other injuries in August. "I defy you to show me anyone who knows it better than I."

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"Kitten, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm enlarging your office, sir, I need a wall." She didn't even look at the Headmaster as she concentrated, a new space forming between the sole window and the bookshelves that normally stood next to it. She kept at it until a good five feet of space spanned between them.

"How did you learn to do that?"

"I didn't; I improvised, and the school took care of the rest. It does that sometimes."

"Why are you doing that?" he asked, leaving the previous answer alone.

"Because I need a wall," she repeated. She unfolded a large map and made it even larger, tacking it up onto the new space until it filled it. The United States of America stood emblazoned against the stone now, and she pulled several pages off of her little desk. Conjuring a bucket of colored thumbtacks, she went down her list of notes and pushed them in at various locations all over the country.

"Again I ask, what the hell are you doing?"

She stopped and turned to him, and he could see the weariness in her emerald eyes. Belatedly, it occurred to him that he and his Dark Hunters weren't the only ones feeling the effects of this. "We need to find him," she stated flatly. "The damage he causes is widespread, not singular. If we wait for him to do something like this again, it'll be even bigger. I don't know if it will help at all, but at least it's something."

"What's something?" He felt like tearing out his hair at her partial answers, though he knew it was only a trait of her house. Right now, however, it was not the enjoyable game and riddle it usually was; he was unbelievably tempted to take her by the shoulders and shake the rest out of her.

Perhaps she read some of this in his face, for she set down the bucket and notes and took a deep breath. "I'm marking out everywhere a capture or incident has taken place," she explained slowly. "Like I said, I don't know if it will help, but if there are any repetitions, it may give us an idea of where to look. If there are no repetitions whatsoever, it will tell us where not to look. If it's a mixture, then we're still at square one, but with one more thing eliminated."

"Robin said you disappeared after the last student was taken care of," he noted, standing underneath the snoring Lysander.

"I went down to the dungeons," she answered shortly, reclaiming her notes and tacks. "I've been helping Professor Greywolf make more Dreamless Sleep Potion."

"The first years are having nightmares."

"Not just the first years," she corrected grimly. "Right up through fifth year has been reported waking up screaming. Sixth and seventh year have been having trouble falling asleep, and nightmares stalk among some of us, too."

"You?" he demanded, gripping her shoulders harshly in alarm.

"No more so than usual," she assured, wincing slightly. "No, mine are normal, but I know Kit and Elowen have had them. Amilee and Amelia, the sixth year Parador twins, have been screaming, and Demtryus and Em in Lobostro haven't had an easy time of it, either. Those are specifics I've heard, but I'm sure there's more."

"What about the Colubraes?"

"Not that we've noticed," she shrugged. "Sabina did bed-checks a couple of times over the past two days, and they seem to be fine. Carr's the only one who saw a painting, because of Aurelia, and the others closed their eyes very quickly. They knew well enough to follow Sabina when she started pushing them under the table, they all went."

He sank down onto her desk, his head in his hands. "Is it pathetic that I just want it all to end? That I want it to be over?"

"We all do, sir, and it doesn't say anything about you that it doesn't say about all of us."

Resting his hand on his chin, he braced his elbow against his knee, watching her check her notes and push in another pin. "Why the different colors?"

"Green is for captures, yellow is for incidents, red is for sightings," she explained. She shoved in a yellow pin in mid Virginia, the approximate location of Avsitrum this year. Her eyes traveled over the map, narrowing. "I don't know that this is going to be that much of a help."

"It's more than we have."

He should have been working on paperwork, should have been digging into anything he could to find the painter, but he just sat there on the edge of her small work desk and watched her fill in the map with colored pins. He flinched violently when she finally spoke, and she watched him with amusement as he regained his balance.

"Are you quite ready this time?" she asked dryly.

"I'm always ready." He ignored her snicker and smiled wryly. "Close enough, anyway."

"The government men only left with one painting, yet there were two kept intact," she observed, setting down the bucket of pins. She sat down next to him on the desk, leaning back against the wall. "Why did you keep the other painting?"

"You're too observant by far," he grumbled.

She waited patiently for him to continue, which he wasn't of a mind to do, but Colubrae won out over Enigmus, and he sighed.

"Mistress Craefter wants to figure out how they work," he informed her. "Provided she can find a safe way to study it."

Her lower lip curled between her teeth, which he recognized as her way of thinking. He gave her a moment to gather her thoughts; he'd learned that interruptions not only made her lose the train of it, but would make her somewhat snappish as well. "Well, now that Aurelia and Carriegan are more or less up and about, they could help with that."

"How do you figure?"

"It's an idea they were playing with after one of their Advanced Charms tutorials." She reached behind her and pulled her long red braid over her shoulder, toying with the ends of it. "They were discussing the properties of glass and how it holds charms, based off of mirrors. They developed a theory between the two of them on how to create what they called spell-glass. It's clear glass reinforced with charms on both sides of it, to keep spells out. It also keeps it in, though, which is significant."

"Explain how it would work," he murmured, his mind turning it over already.

"Basically, they would create the glass and it would be placed over the canvas. Then we can reach around from the side to pull away the paper. When we look at it through the spell glass, we can't do anything to it, but it can't do anything to us, either, so we can study it free on influence."

"We?"

"In the name of research?"

"No, Kitten, not even in the name of research." He shook his head, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "I'm not risking you that way."

"Sir, you may not have a choice."

He looked at her sharply, but she didn't meet his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"For better or worse, sir, I understand her a lot better than all the rest of you." She laughed humorlessly, tracing the silver Celtic braid on her left middle finger. "Maybe the painter is right, and I am the same in essentials." She lifted her hand to cut off his fledgling protest. "Whatever. The fact remains, though, that I'll see more in it than you will. Will you risk every person in this school rather than show me a painting that won't be able to harm me?"

"The spells aren't the only way you can be harmed."

"And I am quite resigned to aught else," she answered firmly. She fingered her ring again, consideringly. "Besides, if it can provide any insight into how to capture a man who can turn friends against each other, isn't the risk of one person worth it?"

"You sound like a Parador."

"Blame it on Aurelia and Gwen."

"You always have an answer, don't you?" he chuckled helplessly.

She gave him a small, tight smile. "Not always, but I'm willing to look. I'll be graduated in six months, my twin is getting married in about a week, and I'm damn near eighteen. If I'm not able to make my own decision at this point, then I'm pretty much a waste of time. Let me make this choice for myself, Headmaster."

He took her hand in his, holding it loosely and staring at her ink smudged fingers for a long time. "All right," he sighed. "Let's go talk to Mistress Craefter, Carriegan, and Aurelia."

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They ended up spelling the glass in the infirmary.

Robin had put her foot down on that. Carriegan she might have allowed to leave, she had received a fairly glancing blow from the painting, but Aurelia was under no circumstances allowed to leave. It seemed that touch formed an even stronger connection, and she'd been having problems with relapsing into the stunned, automaton state she had been in back in the Great Hall. Actually, she was surprisingly vocal about the experiment being done at all, but Aurelia felt confident she could do it, so Clark over-rode her for once.

The two girls sat tailor fashion on opposite ends of one of the beds, a large sheet of glass between them, held by Professors Ward and Bloodthorne. No one, it seemed, wanted to take any chances. Mistress Craefter hadn't been entirely happy, she had wanted to examine the painting more directly, but she understood the dangers it presented and grudgingly agreed to abide by the rule of the glass. Pulling out their wands, Aurelia and Carriegan muttered through the charms they'd improvised. A great deal of spellwork, they'd learned, was intent, and it was the will rather than the words that defined the result.

"On three," Carriegan instructed, and they both held up their wands. "One…two…three…"

"_Panprotego_," they incanted carefully and simultaneously, and silver sheets of light emerged from their wand to sink into the glass from both sides. They stared at each other through the glass.

"So….what now?" the normally bubbly blonde asked. She shook her head against the headache that had surged with the use of her magic, only to find that shaking it really just must made it worse.

"We test it, I guess," Carriegan shrugged. Without warning, she shot a hex at the glass, but it simply hit it with a pale silver ripple and disappeared. "Works from this end. Try it from yours."

Her hand shook as she lifted her wand again, and Kush stepped to her side. "Rest now, Clubs. I can do a simple hex."

"Okay."

It was a mark of how tired she was, Kush reflected as she shot off a jinx. It absorbed into the glass like the one before, and they waited several minutes to make sure there would be no backlash of any sort.

"_Panprotego_?" Clark echoed. "What is that?"

"It's what we came up with two seconds before you brought us the glass," Carriegan shrugged simply. "It's 'all-protect', loosely, which is more or less what you wanted it to do, yes?"

"Yes, thank you," he murmured. "Now we can bring this down to Mistress Craefter's cottage and get to work."

"On what?"

"Never mind, Carriegan, it's not for students to know."

Carriegan shot a look at Kushiel, who quirked an eyebrow in silent reply. They'd had six and a half years, the girls, to work out a silent language between them. Nearly as soon as they'd learned to communicate with it, the Colubraes had learned to lie with it, but it was the balance that was usually of more import, rather than the statement in the lie. It was a clear answer that no information would be forthcoming, and while Carriegan could fume about it if she wished, she knew it would be a waste of time, so she wasn't going to bother. She would just try to get the information another way. As Kushiel knew she would attempt.

Watching them, Kraven rolled his eyes. He didn't miss their silent conversation, he'd known them far too long, but there was an element that never failed to both amuse and exasperate him. He couldn't figure out if it was because they were female or Colubrae. He thought it might be a mixture of both; certainly the male Colubraes were clever and sneaky, but they didn't make the art of it that the females did, nor did he see the girls from the other houses crafting so elegant a dance. They would dance, to be sure, but one could always see it both in planning and in happening. Colubrae had to be observed very carefully in order to see it, and even then, care was no guarantee. "Shall we?" he asked Tyler dryly, preparing to heft his side.

"Can't you just levitate it?" Aurelia asked with a giggle, as if it should be obvious.

Carriegan and Kushiel shared a look. "You do it," Carriegan offered, leaning back into her pillow. "I'm the patient here, remember?"

"Oh, thanks ever, Hearts," she grumbled. She took a deep breath and stroked Aurelia's blonde hair. "Clubs, what did you just do to the glass?"

"Cast on a spell on it, duh!"

"And what is that spell designed to do?"

"Not let magic pass through it," she answered promptly, rather proud of herself.

"So if we try to levitate it, what do you think is going to happen?" The Parador girl stared at her, and off to the side, Elena giggled helplessly, one hand covering her mouth. "Aurelia, if we try to levitate it, the glass will simply absorb the spell. If they're not holding it, it'll drop and break, and we'll have to do all of this over again."

"Oh." She looked down at her trembling hands. "I'd rather not, if that's okay."

"Of course, sweeting," she agreed amiably, stroking her hair. "Kitty."

Elena turned away to hide her laughter, and even Carriegan's shoulders were noticeably shaking. "Would you like to sleep some more, Aurelia?" the infirmary assistant offered gently.

"That would be nice, yes." Smiling sweetly, she allowed Elena to support her into standing, stumbling over to her own cot across the way.

Between them, Kraven and Tyler hefted the large, heavy piece of glass and started walking carefully away from the infirmary, It was a long walk they had to make, down the hall, through the Entrance Hall, out through the courtyard past the fountain, down the white path nearly a mile to reach the small, slightly sagging cottage of Mistress Craefter. But, as they really didn't have a choice…

Kushiel followed after them with Clark, her thumbs hooked comfortably through the belt loops of her plain blue jeans. She could, and often did, dress to the nines for the simple entertainment in it, but she chose to be casual when it was suitable, and the work cried for such. Neither spoke as they strolled behind the two professors; indeed, not a word was said at all until Professors Kobiyashi and Aberfoyle had opened the doors to the cottage and closed it after the lot of them.

The cottage had survived several more explosions since the girls had used in to construct their Halloween costumes, and it showed in the soot clinging to the rafters. It was the sort of thing no one ever thought to clean, even magically; they never seemed to think to look up when they thought themselves done. Evangeline Craefter smoothed a wisp of grey hair back into her frizzy chignon and directed the glass into a frame she'd constructed just for this purpose, They stared through it at the paper wrapped canvass behind it.

"Shall we?" she asked cheerfully, hands fairly itching to unravel the new mystery. Mistress Craefter was like that.

"I suppose we might as well," Clark agreed, reaching behind the frame to tear off the butcher paper.

The Dark Hunters winced, purely out of reflex, and Kushiel closed her eyes against the colors that blended deceptively into one another. It reminded her of the sketch at her bedside; the portrait in the foreground was flawless, the background nauseating and disorienting. She walked slowly up to the glass, her fingers brushing against the cold surface.

"Kitten…"

She shook her head, a bemused smirk tugging at her lips in spite of herself. The woman in the portrait was stunning. It was not a classical sense of beauty, not one of overwhelming loveliness. She wouldn't have ever been called merely pretty, the seventh year reflected. The word that came to mind was handsome, in one of the older senses; this woman was a handsome woman. Her skin was creamy and smooth, even in tone and color. Dark grey eyes, nearly black, stared out from the paint, the slightest bit too large for the rest of her face. Black hair, in the thick kink between curly and wavy, tumbled around her face, held back over one ear by a dried rose that had once been a vibrant red, echoed in the muted red of her lips. The colors behind her melded into each other with little care or concern for the laws of general aesthetics. A handsome woman, against a sickening morass. Young, too, probably no more aged than Kushiel herself, if perhaps a little more. Youth radiated out from her round face, graceful despite the hint of baby fat left to it.

"Mistress Craefter, might I borrow pen and paper, please?" she asked politely.

The intrigued crafter handed her the requested supplies and she sat tailor fashion on the floor in front of the glass, sketching out a fair copy of the portrait.

"Kitten, what are you doing?"

"Researching."

Kraven sighed; they would get no more from her until she'd proven her theory one way or the other "Mistress Craefter, have you any thoughts on it?"

The fifty-seven year old woman stepped beside the student, her thumb rubbing against her chin as she contemplated the artwork. "Have any of you ever heard of Psycho Benedictus?"

"The Soul Blessing?" Tyler translated, startled. "I thought that was just a myth."

"No myth, just misunderstood," Evangeline murmured thoughtfully. "Done correctly, it invests a portion…no, not a portion, more like a ghost of the person's soul in the object. From there, if it can form a connection, it can influence and affect the soul's of those connected to it."

"How does it form a connection?" Polonius asked. "Through sight and touch, obviously, but how is the bond itself formed?"

"Like calls to like," Kushiel answered, not looking up from her drawing. "Souls have an innate need to be connected with other souls, hence the obsession with finding your soul mate. The ghost of the soul in the painting reaches through the eyes and connects with the soul of the victim." When naught but silence greeted her, she did look up, regarding them all with innocent eyes. "What? There's a book in the library on it."

"In the Restricted Section, yes."

She shrugged aside Polonius' qualification. "All knowledge is worth having," she quoted.

"So how does one prevent the connection from occurring?"

"One doesn't look in the painting," Evangeline replied, not entirely in jest. "There isn't a way to protect the soul from connection without making any kind of connection impossible."

"What if we made glasses out of the spellglass? That could protect our eyes as it does now," Sachiko suggested, and Evangeline nodded slowly.

"I can work on it with Miss Hepburn and Miss Chantrea through the rest of the week. I'm sure we can develop something that will work."

"And how do we destroy it once a connection has been made?"

"Destroy the paining, I believe." Faded blue eyes traveled between each of the professors. "By destroying the host, the investiture, one destroys the ghost of the soul."

"What happens to it?" Sachiko whispered.

"Being only the ghost of the soul and not the soul itself, I have no idea," she admitted, shaking her head.

Kushiel rose to her feet, paper clutched in her hand as she offered the quill back to Mistress Craefter. "Thank you. Excuse me."

"Kitten, where are you going?"

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, green eyes sparkling impishly. "Research," she repeated, wrinkling her nose at him for good measure. It wasn't appropriate, and probably wasn't fair, but if the portrait was right in the link to her memory, she could pay back the impertinence with tenfold compensation.

She closed the door softly and walked a few steps away, until she was sure they wouldn't follow her. Then she threw her dignity to the winds and broke into a sprint, racing back up to the school with the piece of paper crumpling in her hand. She skidded through into the infirmary, where Cliona was talking with Elena and Artanus by Aurelia's bed. "Spades, I need your help."

Without immediate question, Cliona nodded to Elena and Artanus and joined her friend, hazel eyes wide. "What is it?" she asked as they half-jogged out the door.

"You have a better memory for the library lay-out than I do," she explained. "I need your help finding the old yearbooks, you know, the ones the professors keep hiding? I need to match a picture."

"Match a picture," the Enigmite echoed. "All right."

"Just all right?" Kushiel queried dryly as they slowed to a respectful walk into the library. "Normally you would have protested for some information."

"You told me back in September that the information wasn't yours to give. I'll respect that until it is."

Whatever answer the Colubrae had been expecting, that wasn't it, and she blinked owlishly. "Thank you."

"What years are we looking for?"

"Um…" She worried her lower lip between her teeth, tilting her head back to scan through her mental inventory of notes. "Let's start at thirty years ago," she decided. "Then we can decide where to go from there."

"The yearbooks are this way," Cliona whispered, ducking around a shelf to hide from Mister Skyler. "He shifted them just two weeks ago, because a gaggle of third year Lobostro girls happened upon them and started hyperventilating over the professors' youthful pictures."

Kushiel snorted, but didn't comment. There wasn't much she could say without seeming hypocritical anyway. She followed the girl down to the carpeted floor and watched her pull out the entire bottom shelf of books in the Household Pests section, from _Grumbling Garden Gnomes_ to _Leeches, Lice, and Little Brothers_. Behind them, the immaculately preserved yearbooks of the past ten years stood revealed.

"Okay, that means we need to go down three more." She replaced the books and slid down, keeping half an ear out for the well intentioned librarian. "Here we are."

Kushiel pulled out one of the volumes and leafed quickly through it, seeing nothing. "Let's try the previous year."

Cliona pulled it out and handed it to her. "What picture are we trying to match?"

For answer, she laid down the sketch and smoothed it out. "This one." She skimmed through the pages, shaking her head. "Nothing even close."

Rather than going in order, the lycan drew out one from several years before. "Here; this way we're not dependant solely upon seventh year. You can figure it out from there."

Flashing her friend a grateful grin, Kush thumbed through it and stopped in the fourth years. "Here's a possibility," she murmured, marking the name and handing back the book. "Let's try for three years from that." With the new volume in her hand, she skipped to the seventh year Paradors and ran her fingers across the page until she came to the corresponding picture, albeit three years later. "What do you think?"

Cliona's eyes narrowed as she stared back and forth between the two, but she had to concede that the resemblance, if that's all it was, was uncanny, right down to the overlarge eyes and the dried rose in the hair. "So what does it mean?"

"Will you kill me if I say I can't tell you?"

"No," she sighed. "Only add it to the list of things you'll be telling me as soon as you possibly can."

"Thank you. Now help me sneak this past Mister Skyler?"

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"Well, well, well, if it isn't the prodigal student?" Kraven remarked acidly, as the door to the cottage opened to reveal Kushiel. After a further hour of studying the painting, they knew no more than Mistress Craefter's first suggestion of Psycho Benedictus, and there was little enough they could do with that.

"I'm sure I'll be forgiven, great teacher, when you see what news I bring," she retorted, holding the yearbook concealed behind her back.

"You found something?" Clark demanded, shooting to his feet from the chair he'd taken residence in some forty minutes before.

"Yes, I did." Her lips twitched in a quickly suppressed smirk. "Who do you suppose the woman in the painting is, sir?"

Clark shared a long look with the other professors, not entirely certain where this was going. "Persephone, I suppose, with the rose. Or one of Her minions, though we've not had a female one in quite some time."

"Right and wrong, sir."

When she didn't say anything more, Kraven finally lost his temper. "Kushiel Rhiannon de Navarre, quit your games this instant, or I shall write your Grandmother O'Grady and tell her you wish to spend all of winter break after your sister's wedding with her!"

To the great surprise of everyone else in the room, Kushiel paled dramatically. Kraven was her Head of House, and he encouraged his Colubraes to trust him, to give them a firm foundation to crumble onto when their initial intrigues failed, thus he knew their weaknesses well. And, there was no doubt whatsoever in the young woman's mind that he would do it, too. She held out the book, which he snatched from her hands. "Page 84," she told him quietly.

He opened it as directed and held it flat before him, staring down at the page. "How-?"

"Her name is Callia Waylen, an alumni of Avistrum '73, graduate of Parador House. Her superlative was most likely to creep out small children. Her skills and interests were listed as art, music, and charity, and her career goal was listed simply as 'to share the light of beauty with others'. And her picture is an exact match to the portrait." She smiled slightly, thoroughly entertained by the shock on their faces. "You're looking at Persephone, surely enough, but not yet Persephone. Both right and wrong, both She and not She. And suddenly now She has a name and a history, crossing through this very school. Does it mean anything?" She shrugged elegantly. "Who knows. But you have a name. Oh, and you also have a request."

"A request," Clark echoed, stunned.

"With midterms supposed to start two days ago, and break supposed to start two days from today, and considering that a large portion of the student body is still recovering mentally, if not physically, do we still have to take the exams?" she asked ingenuously.

Staring at her, Clark couldn't help but laugh, leaning against the wall and laughing till tears streamed down his face. One by one, the other professors joined in, a much needed release of stress and tension.

"That was very well done, Madamoiselle de Navarre," Evangeline murmured.

"I was serious," she muttered back. "They asked me to ask him. We sure as hell don't want to take them."

Thus Evangeline started laughing, as well.

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"Everyone packed and ready to go?"

Aurelia bounced happily on top of her luggage, blonde pigtails flying up and down with her movements. "Ready!" she crowed. "Hallowed Haven, here we come!"

"You're sure that dress will be-"

"Raven, that dress will be fine," Kush sighed, rolling her eyes. "Come on, the portkey will activate any minute now."

The girls clustered in as close together as they could, one hand clutching the long scarf, the other keeping a tight hold on their assorted luggage. In just a few moments, they'd be on their way to Hallowed Haven, the Irish half of the ancestral de Navarre estates, for the wedding of Rhonwyn O'Grady and Pierce McAllison, before splitting off to their own homes for Christmas. Two blessed weeks away from homework, away from firsties, and away from Persephone. As the characteristic tug blossomed behind her navel, Kush glanced up at the entrance to the school to view the Headmaster seeing them off. He raised one arm, whether in blessing or farewell she couldn't tell, before the world started spiraling around her. On to home, then, to see what would arise.


	14. Weddings and Graveyards

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. I promise. I'm not lying. Neither Harry Potter nor Avistrum are mine.**

_A/N: PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!_

**Chapter Fourteen: Weddings and Graveyards**

"I'll not be after takin anyone who'll whinge at getting dirty."

Several of the girls traded wry looks before answering the spindly young man in front of them. The five girls that were gathered at the end of the village road were all dressed simply in thick jeans and turtlenecks, flannel overshirts and boots, well worn and well suited to the tears and catches of branches and brambles. "I daresay those of us who are here are non-whinging, Amos," Kushiel informed her oldest friend dryly.

He nodded, looking down on them from his six feet five inches, hands on his narrow hips. Amos of Hallowed Haven, the unknown bastard get of a woman who died in childbirth, had made his unexpected friendship with the younger daughter of the manor at the tender age of four. When the lady of the manor and her two daughters had come into town for the May festival, he had been dared by the other boys of the village to steal the pendant from the older girl's necklace. He had managed it, surely enough, and ran like hell afterwards, but had not counted on the younger one pursuing him like the punishing angels chase sinners. She'd caught him, tackling him to the ground in the middle of a mud puddle, and reclaimed her sister's pendant.

That would have been enough, probably, to secure an uneasy truce between them, had she not promptly punched him in the nose and ordered him to teach her the skill of it. Lady Séraphine had healed his nose, amusement dancing in her blue eyes, and given her leave for her heir to pursue the unlikely attachment.

Cliona, Elowen, Elena, and Gwen had followed their schoolmate down to the village, leaving the others fast asleep in their beds, to meet the famous, and infamous, Amos. For some of them, it was their first trip to Hallowed Haven, and they were eager to see the grounds of the home Kushiel loved so well. She had warned them that they would be going through the woods as well, if they truly wanted to see everything, and the House Elves provided for what they had not thought to need.

Pale hazel eyes narrowed, he nodded once more and turned his back on them. "Come, then, and if the lads say aught, ye're on your own."

"What does he mean by that?" Elowen whispered to Kush as they started after him.

"It simply means he won't defend us," she explained, her lilting Irish brogue more pronounced than ever now that she was home. "If we take umbrage at aught the lads say, he'll be leavin it to us to defend ourselves."

"And what, pray tell, does that entail, exactly?"

The redhead shrugged. "Whatever you wish, whether it be ignoring them or punchin them in the face. It's up to you, if you'd like to take one or t'other."

But rather than leading them immediately through town, Amos strolled away from the village, his hands in his pockets. "Ye're sure your Yanks are up to this, Kush?"

"Boy, I spent my younger years huntin' coons in the woods with the boys," Elowen retorted sharply. "I'm up for anything you can throw at me."

Once again, he nodded wordlessly, but there was a pensiveness to it, as well, and a grudging approval. Kushiel left Elowen to the others and caught up to her male friend, her thumbs linked through her belt loops as they walked. "Has all been well?" he asked quietly, knowing the slump to her shoulders.

"Persephone has gone so far as to attack the school," she answered, equally lowly. "They can't find her, nor the painter. People have been hurt, friends."

"Killed?"

"None of ours."

"Then you have some time yet before you can be so down," he told her philosophically. "Until ye've been hit personally, it's naught to do with ye."

"I've been attacked."

He fell silent, regarding her from the corner of his eye. "Yer mam said naught."

"She knows naught."

"Why haven't ye told her?"

"I will," she promised softly. "It's not somewhat to deliver in a letter."

"Ye'd best, or I'll write to your teachers and ask them to tell her themselves."

She smiled in spite of herself. "Amos, you can't even write."

"Then I'll find someone to write it for me," he replied implacably. "Yer mam's a smart woman. No doubt, she'll have somewhat to tell thee."

"I'll tell her."

The group of six made their way into the forest, dwarfed by the ancient trees. Birds trilled from time to time, high overhead, and they were surrounded, embraced, by a strange sense of timelessness. It was an odd feeling at their age, poised on the cusp of adulthood, so close to having to make their own way in the world. Eighteen, or nearly, was a time of impulsiveness, of spontaneous motion and momentous fluidity. The forest erased all of that, regarding them as wayward children between gnarled, leaf-burdened branches.

"Too bad it's not a full moon," Cliona murmured. "This would be a fun time."

"You remember the villagers, yes?" Kushiel replied. "As lovely as the woods would be, I don't know that you'd want to tempt superstitious villagers."

"Ah."

"This place is so old!" Elowen exclaimed, her voice unnaturally loud against the stillness. "Nothin' back home feels like this."

Elena smiled gently, trailing her hand along a thick, vine-wreathed trunk. "We're a younger country. Give us time."

"By the time we have that time, there won't be any forests left," Cliona predicted gloomily. "They keep cutting them down."

"They'll never touch the trees around the Den."

"No, but that's not the only forest that matters."

Amos leaped across a somewhat wide ditch and searched about for a fallen branch stout enough to suit his purposes. Kushiel took a running leap and flew over it, landing lightly on the other side with the ease of long practice, assisting him in his search. Between them, they found a thick branch and lowered it across to bridge the gap for the other girls. They clambered across on the unsteady structure, coming to rest on firm earth on the far side. Once they were regathered, they continued, through the forest, alongside the river, up through the hills to the house. Rather than returning inside, however, they passed it by and took the road back to the village.

So far as Cliona could recall, the village didn't actually have a name, at least not one that she had ever head Kush utter. It was simply the village, an extension of Hallowed Haven, though perhaps it could be called Haven after the ancestral estate. Hallowed Haven itself wasn't terribly old, not so far as the British purebloods reckoned such things; Henri de Navarre, future Henri IV of France, had bought it for his Irish mistress in 1574, when Aisling had informed him she was pregnant with his child. Kush had told her that the magical estates originally inherited by Henri were much, much older, located in the rugged Pyrenees in what used to be the sovereign kingdom of Navarre. The village was simply an extension of the estate in a way, created to support the mansion and provide for its non-elf workers.

The single street widened in the center to a square, narrowing again to form the street leading to the other half of the houses. It was while they were in the square, dropping the bucket down into the well to pull up some water, that they finally met the village boys.

By village standards, they really weren't boys anymore. At eighteen and older, they had been in the fields and workshops for several years by that point, and it showed in the musculature of their arms, bare under tunics despite the chill of the season. "So, the high and mighty lass is back, come to remind us of our stations," one of them, with a frizzy mop of red-gold curls, sneered.

"What in the Sam Hill did he say?" Elowen asked softly, unable to decipher the extremely heavy brogue.

"He was insulting Kush," Cliona replied dryly.

"Why?" She demanded, highly affronted.

"Because they're boys and she's a girl?"

"Oh."

Kushiel leaned back against the brick wall of the well, flipping her long red braid behind her. "So, no cheery welcome home, Brendan? I'm hurt."

"We're sendin' our tithes to the estate, lady, never fear," he retorted, sweeping her a mocking bow.

"I'm simply showing my friends where I grew up," she stated mildly. "Have you a problem with that, Brendan?"

"Me only problem is you lording your ownership over us."

"Do I lord my ownership, Amos?"

"Not that I've seen," he answered gaily, an evil glint to his pale hazel eyes. "I think it's just Brendan here chafing at the bit."

"Are you chafing at the bit, Brendan?"

His hand curling into a fist, Brendan growled at them furiously. "Why can't ye just stay at yer fancy school?" he demanded. "Or up in yer fancy house? Ye've no need to come traipsing along to remind us we're not our own creatures."

"You _are_ your own creature, Brendan," she told him calmly. "Ye pay in bare rent and token service, tha's all. Whatever else ye do is purely upon you." The punch came without warning, but it was not wholly unexpected, and Kush leaned to one side and watched the large fist slam into the arch of the cistern. "Ye all right there, boyo?" she queried in mock concern, voice oozing sweetness.

"Ye know how to start a party, don't ye, lass?" Amos chuckled, cracking his knuckles in anticipation.

John, one of the other boys, came to the defense of his friend's honor, and the fight was begun. Cliona, Elena, and Elowen stayed out of it, backing slightly away, while Kushiel and Amos thrived in the heart of it. That is, until yet another of the boys came close to them, running his hand along Elowen's cheek. "She brings pretty lasses back," he murmured. "But to the victor goes the spoils."

The Southern belle smiled sweetly at him. "I'm sorry, boy, but you're really not good enough for me. I prefer a measure of looks and intelligence in my guys."

He grabbed her wrist in a firm grasp, fingers digging into her skin. "You may not get that chance, Yank."

She kneed him directly in the crotch, putting all of her strength into it. As he doubled over in severe pain, she patted his head. "I'm no Yankee, I'm from the south, and you'd do well to remember that." A healthy push sent him reeling into the dirt, where one of his friends landed on him a moment later. Between the two of them, Kush and Amos managed to send the bullies off running, with a well danced symmetry that spoke of long years of practice.

Kush blotted the blood from her split lip with the back of one hand, grinning at her friends. "Ah, how I do so love coming home."

Amos gently fingered his left eye, which was already starting to puff and swell. "It's certainly livelier," he agreed. "Ye think yer mam will fuss?"

"Not if we take care of it before we enter the house." She winked across at the slightly flustered Elena. "Think you could patch us up before home, Elena?"

"No, I'm going to make you go to your sister's wedding looking like you've been beaten," she retorted with some asperity.

"It's just a split lip!" Kush protested indignantly. "Amos looks a hell of a lot worse off than me."

Sighing, Elena made to pull out her wand, but Amos stopped her by grabbing her wrist. "What?"

"The villagers know of magic, being so long tied to the de Navarres, but they've naught of magic themselves, most of them," he explained lowly. "So it's considered somewhat rude to perform it in front of them."

"Why do you say 'them'?" Elowen asked curiously. "Aren't you a villager, too?"

He shook his head with a wry grin. "I'm naught but the bastard boy on the fringes. They tolerate me, but I'm not one of them."

"We'll do the charms at home, Elena," Kush murmured. "We'll just do it before we get inside."

"This is a weird place, Kush," Elowen muttered as they trudged back up the street towards the mansion. "I don't get it at all."

"It's quite a bit backwards here," she explained. "The village is completely isolated from aught else. Most else," she amended. "Our forest is magicked to stay alive and nourished, to not drop its leaves, and none of them have even heard of a phone, much less used one, for all that they're muggle."

"But why is it a muggle village?"

"Because Aisling was born from muggles, and Henri wanted to honor that. He was a clever man in the game of thrones, but he didn't read people very well. It's caused a lot of dissention through the generations, between the villagers and the family," She shrugged casually. "In the end, though, things stay as they are, because it's what everyone knows. It's not much different than the plantation, El."

Elowen toyed with the loosely curled ends of her ponytail, considering. "I guess," she allowed. "It just seems weird, though."

"That's just because it's different."

Outside the house, Amos did a quick cast about, and nodded sharply to Elena. "Now's the time, when there's none to be seen."

She pulled out her slender wand and performed the charms, cooling Amos' black eye and healing the bruised tissue before repairing her friend's split lip.

"No need to ask if you managed to have fun without us," Carriegan quipped from the doorway, Aurelia, Raven, and Sabina clustered behind her.

"We were entertained," Elowen replied cheerfully.

"So, if you're done traipsing about, shall we see something?"

"We saw bunches of things already."

"Something other than woods and fists?" Sabina suggested archly.

"Would you like to see the graveyard?"

Many sets of eyes turned to stare at Kushiel, and she shrugged. "What? It's gorgeous."

"I'm for it." Cliona yawned and stretched, mussing her wavy brown hair. "Creepy statues, here we come."

"I'll leave ye lasses to it," Amos said, nodding to them as a group. "I've lunch to steal."

"Amos, ye do know that the elves will give ye anything y'ask for?"

He gave her a roguish grin. "But that's not nearly as much fun. I'll see thee later, Kushiel."

She waved him off and curled her thumbs through her belt loops, turning to the other girls. "Shall we, then?"

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Raven's eyes grew wide as they took in the scope of the ancient burial site, the monuments and statues and mausoleums. It sloped gently on a hill nearly two miles from the house itself, the oldest at the top and the newest down closer to the bottom. She followed Kush up the steep slope of the closer side, not yet covered in the markers of death, up to the very top.

A marble angel, weathered and cracked with age, stood at the crest, wings spread wide and arms held out in benediction or supplication; she couldn't figure out which. Her marble plinth bore an inscription on the front, etched into the hard stone.

_Aisling Rhiannon FitzSimmons_

_1556-1627_

_Gone to join her Henri, together in Heaven_

"This is THE Aisling?" Raven asked in awe, running her fingers reverently along one of the spidery cracks. "The mother of your line?"

"So far back as we bother to trace it, yes. The muggle born magical mistress of Henri II of Navarre, who became Henri IV of France. She kept a journal faithfully, and they show her to be an incredibly gentle, sweet soul. Being a secret mistress was hardly a socially acceptable bit, and her own family reviled her both for her choice of heart and her innate magic. Ooh!" She skipped down to another statue, this one sculpted from black marble. A brooding, beautiful young man stood shrouded in an elegant pair of wings, his expression dark and foreboding as he embraced a stunning, distant eyed young woman.

"Oh, he's a cheery soul, isn't he?" Gwen snickered. "Who is he?"

"Henri-Michel," their hostess answered promptly. "The grandson of Aisling and Henri. He was a melancholic soul, much given to depression. The family rejoiced when he fell in love and married, because it seemed like he'd finally found a little light come into his life. But, then, his bride died, trying to save some children from a fire in the village. The building crashed down on her. After that, he retreated so far into his sorrow that he became known as the Lord of Tears. In his arms is his wife, Arianrhod."

"You have such a cool history," Raven sighed. Wizard born, yes, but only three generations, and she felt the lack of magical history keenly. She was fascinated by history, and planned to spend life after school studying it intently.

Kush shrugged, wandering a little further down the slope. "I'm sure your muggle family has some incredible history behind it; they came over on some of the first ships, didn't they?"

"Well, yeah, that's true."

"Here's Aine de Navarre, and her husband Alexis Penyitriov. It was an arranged marriage, but they really were madly in love with each other. But. She refused to marry him, purely on principle, but didn't scruple against sleeping with him, so their first child was minutes shy of being born a bastard. He finally convinced her to marry him in spite of the arrangement while she was in labor, and they performed the binding right then and there."

Aurelia giggled, bobbing an impudent curtsey to the smirking woman. "She sounds like she was fun."

"The elves claim her mother despaired of her. Díane retired to Chez des Anges as soon as Aine was married, and refused to leave it for the rest of her days, nor would she allow Aine to come visit.

They made their way down to the base of the hill, where five table-like tombs stood all in a row. Made of rose marble, they bore trailing roses carved along their seams and rows, the inscriptions cast in a flowing, elegant script. "Who do these belong to?" Carriegan queried, squinting to make out the interlocking scrollwork.

"My nanan's sisters. Practically the only multiple birth in family history, and it came about as a direct result of stupid experimentation. My great-grandparents were having great difficulty conceiving, so they went to St. Mungo's and were seen by an absolute quack, who gave them a potion guaranteed to promote fertility. It was poison and nearly killed her. So, great-granpère decided he would make his own potion. He succeeded, I suppose; she conceived, and gave him quadruplets, but she and all four girls died within a week of the birth. He remarried eventually, and his new wife conceived my nanan, but great-granppère never really recovered." She slid up on top of one of them, laying back and dangling her feet over the side.

"Kush!"

"It's okay, Raven, they don't mind."

Cliona perched next to her best friend, clasping her hands at her knee and leaning her head back to the weak December sunlight. "It's not like they really have much of a say in it anyway," she observed.

"I used to come out here to play," Kush mused, closing her eyes. "Rhon and I would play hide and seek among the tombs, or we'd challenge each other to see who knew the most family histories. Later on, we would study out here, when the weather was nice."

"That's kind of sick, Diamonds," Aurelia commented, but that didn't stop her from hopping atop one.

"It's beautiful, though, and that was what mattered."

"I wonder if Persephone would agree," Cliona murmured in Kush's ear. She hadn't learned all the details, those were still bound by oath, but she'd figured out more or less what the other girl had been up to all these months.

"Perhaps She would," she agreed softly. "But I'm not Her."

"Beauty in death? You could be."

"But I'm not." She turned her head and gazed at the Queen of Spades. "I always felt very safe out here, in the protection of my ancestors. Somehow, I don't see Her as being all that into protection."

"And is it out here that you'll run when your father comes home?"

"If Mum lets me," she grumbled. "This is my home, Cli; Da has no right to muck it all up."

"Diamonds, I think your sister's coming down," Elena pointed out.

Kush sat up and shaded her eyes, watching the slim, petite form approach them. Rhonwyn and Kushiel looked almost nothing alike. The structure of their face was similar, their frame, the cast of an eyebrow. Mostly it was the way they held themselves that lent awareness to their relationship. Rhonwyn had fair skin scattered with a handful of freckles, charming in their dusting, and wide set grey eyes. Dark brown hair, sleek and glossy, fell in straight length to her waist, two sections pulled back away from her face and tied with a plain white ribbon. There was a reticence to her movement, a hesitant fluidity that may as well have screamed shy. "What brings you out here, Rhon? I thought Grandmother had trapped you with the florist."

"Da's home," she said simply. "Grandmother is fussing over him, and Mum sent me out to fetch you." She watched the color drain from her sister's face and held out her hand sympathetically. "It might as well be now, Kush."

Sighing, the heir of Hallowed Haven slid off the tomb and dusted off the back of her jeans, clasping her twin's hand warmly. "Do you guys want to stay here or head back?"

"Um…let's stay here," Carriegan suggested carefully. She'd been dormmates with Kush for far too long not to know the tumultuous history between father and younger daughter. She had no wish to be in the middle of that.

"As you wish." The two sisters, only minutes apart, started walking the long way back to the house. "How does he look?"

"Thinner," Rhonwyn O'Grady, soon to be Rhonwyn McAllison replied succinctly. "Aught else I'd no chance to see, as Grandmother threw herself all over him, weeping and wailing."

At that, Kush couldn't help but laugh.

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Aidan O'Grady had been seven years away from his family, and he had returned, as his eldest daughter and heir had observed, thinner. He had never been a large man, tall and rather lean, but there was a prominence to the bones of his face that spoke not so much of deprivation as of forgetfulness. Gazing upon him from the doorway, Kush could well believe that he'd simply forgotten to eat. He looked like an older, male version of Rhonwyn; if her twin had been male, she would have been a mirror image. She turned to Rhonwyn, who regarded her with infinite compassion.

"He's our Da, Kushiel," she murmured. "This is right. We don't have to like it, but it's right."

"I know. It doesn't make it easier."

"I know."

Aidan endured his mother's dramatics with an old patience, patting her soothingly on the back. He had just gotten back and already she was tutting about the length of his shaggy hair. His wife sat at the sidebar, amusement dancing in her bright blue eyes as she watched him. "Mother, do ye suppose-?"

"Oh, Aidan, it's so good that you're home, my son, and you have a great deal of explaining to do, young man, and if you think you're getting by with your usual vague answers, you can think again, because I am not-"

Not bothering to hide her smile, Séraphine ducked back behind the bar and spoke to the house elf waiting in attendance. Nodding, a moment later it reappeared in the doorway to the kitchen. "Mistress O'Grady, florist regrets to inform you that florist has broken a vase."

"What! Oh, the clumsy wretch!" Still in high dudgeon, the matriarch of the O'Grady line sailed out the door to deal rage upon the hapless florist.

"Say hello to your daughters, Aidan," Séraphine instructed, still smiling.

Rhonwyn stepped forward first to greet their vagrant father, embracing him respectfully. "Welcome home, Da."

"Hello, Rhon," he said simply, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. He glanced up at his younger daughter, still leaning in the doorway. "Hello, Kush."

"H'lo, Da." She inclined her head slightly, arms crossed against her chest. Her mother raised an eyebrow, but she quirked one right back, and Séraphine shook her head warningly.

"Your hair got darker."

"Aye, Da. That can happen when you get older."

"Kush," Séraphine cautioned, and her younger daughter shrugged.

Something that might have been sadness passed through Aidan's grey eyes as he held his elder daughter. "I hurt ye, didn't I, lass?"

She looked at her father, seeing the weathered tan, the newly acquired lines in his face, and nodded. "Aye, Da, ye did."

"I'm sorry."

She just nodded again. They stood there for a time in silence, the four of them; Rhonwyn, content and forgiving in her father's arms; Séraphine, amused and concerned in turns; Aidan, older and mayhap finally wiser; and Kushiel, uncertain and unwilling to forget. It was almost a relief when a house elf came in to tell them that the misses were wanted for their fittings.

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She was actually asleep when her mother came in to her room, the neon orange Nicolas squeezed in the crook of her elbow. Kush started violently as a weight descended on her bed, sitting up in disorientation. "Wha-?"

"Come," Séraphine instructed. "It's time for cookies, don't you think?"

"Okay…" Bemusedly, Kushiel reached for a barrette to tame her wild curls and slid out of bed, pulling a deep blue quilted dressing gown over her pajamas. It was rather chilly, and she thought fleetingly about putting on a pair of slippers, but decided she'd probably be sitting with her feet tucked underneath her most of the time anyway. Grabbing her wand off the nightstand, she tucked it into the waistband of her pajama bottoms and followed after her mother.

The kitchen in Hallowed Haven was the only one she knew of with armchairs and papa sans in it, Kush reflected as they entered the room. Her mother had already set everything up, so she merely sank down into one of the armchairs by the low table that held all the ingredients. Séraphine sat down across from her, handing her a mixing bowl and keeping one for herself. "Double batch tonight." Her mother informed her.

"Any particular reason?"

"We've a great deal to talk about." The elegant blonde woman scooped out some butter and plopped it into her bowl, working by memory rather than by measurement. "Starting with your Da."

"He seems like he's learned something, at least," she noted carefully, one finger traversing the rim of the metal bowl. "Eight years ago, he would never have picked up on the fact that I was hurt. Or that my appearance had changed somewhat."

"I've never truly understood why you were angry with him," her mother admitted, passing her the spoon for the butter. "It's not like you've ever been particularly fond of him, and you were going to be going off to school the next year anyway."

Kushiel scooped the butter into her bowl, using her finger to get as much as she could off the spoon. "I never understood Da, Mum, you know that. But it was another year that I could have tried. Besides, he took my Legacy Locket with him, and it's not exactly like I could just replace it. That was enough to piss me off on its own."

"But it certainly wasn't the only reason you were angry."

"He just left. However much he was incapable of being a normal father most of the time, we were still his responsibility, and he just abandoned us. And for what?"

"He claimed to have had a vision."

"But did he ever tell us what that vision was? Or why he needed to follow it? In the seven years he was gone, did he ever send us word? He could have been dead for all we knew."

"And all you cared?"

The redhead crumbled some of the clumps of brown sugar as she poured them into her bowl. "I never wished Da dead," she clarified, "though it might have made things easier."

Pouring white sugar into her bowl, Séraphine didn't even look up. "How do you mean?"

"It would have made explanations easier, for one," her daughter pointed out, holding out her bowl for the white sugar. "It's a hell of a lot easier to say your father's dead than it is to say you don't know where he is. Two, you could have gotten a job. I know you keep up on things, and you have your projects, but you've always wanted a job. I also know that it's in your marriage contract that you not have a job, because the O'Gradys wanted you home with the children. If he were dead, you could have gotten one. And maybe you could have met someone, fallen in love, and married for choice."

"You wouldn't mind a step-father telling you what to do?" she twitted.

"I wouldn't mind a man you were madly in love with trying to tell me what to do," she corrected with a grin. Her mother handed the bowl back to her and she began mixing the two sugars together with the butter, forming a gritty kind of paste. "Three, we wouldn't have had to wonder. I think that may even be the most offensive bit, really. Like it wasn't enough that he'd abandoned us, but he had to be constantly in our thoughts too, wondering if he was alive or dead, why he'd left, would he come home, yada yada yada yada." She dipped her finger into the bowl and claimed a small taste of the beginnings of the cookies, just sugars and butter, and smiled. "Nummy."

"That's wildly unhealthy for you, you know that, right?" Séraphine felt obliged to point out as she did the exact same thing.

"Of course I do."

"So long as you know."

"Rhon said you packed a lot of your projects away." She added the two eggs, looking at her mother from under her lashes.

"Well, your father isn't going back to work straightaway, so I thought it might be politic to spend some time with him, rather than locking myself away in my study all day."

"Did you ever love him?"

Séraphine stopped stirring, her blue eyes lost in thought. "I was fond of him," she said finally. "Whether or not that qualifies for love, I don't know, but I would have been sad had he died. Sweeting, I didn't even meet your father before the engagement party. In twelve years of marriage, affection slowly grew, but that wasn't the point of the marriage. Your sister is luckier than most that she has grown to love her intended husband. You will be luckier still, in being able to choose."

"Marriages should be about love."

"Perhaps they should be, but they aren't always," Séraphine said pragmatically. She added in the vanilla, salt, and baking powder, stirring it all together. "And speaking of love, tell me about this teacher of yours."

To her great surprise, her daughter flushed crimson and ducked her head. "It's not love," she clarified adamantly. "It's just crush."

"So then, tell me of your pang."

She stirred slowly, although the ingredients were already blended and just awaiting the flour next. "You were right enough in hoping it was the Headmaster, and Cliona is determined that he likes me as well. It's certainly true that he tends to touch me a great deal when we're talking, though nothing inappropriate."

"Well, that's disappointing."

"Mum!" Kushiel laughed and added the first bit of flour. It was easier, they'd found, to add it in stages. "You're horrible."

"And you enjoy it, so keep telling."

"I don't think there'll ever be a point when I'm more than a student to him, though. Like even if he were to kiss me, he'd freak out because he was kissing a student."

"What about after you graduated?"

"I dunno. I think he'd still freak about it. After all, the man's been my teacher since I was twelve years old. He's watched me grow up."

"But you like him."

"But I like him."

"I'm not quite sure what to tell you, sweeting," she admitted. "Other than wait and see, there's nothing really that comes to mind. Well," she amended, an impish gleam in her eyes, "nothing that isn't like to get you expelled."

"Thanks, but I'll leave that to you," Kush giggled, remembering her mum's story of Professuer Artaud.

"So, to change the subject once again," Séraphine began, adding the last bit of flour into her bowl. "Tell me about this letter I got from Professor Bloodthorne."

"That depends; what letter did you get from Professor Bloodthorne?"

"He said that you'd been targeted by Persephone?"

"When did you get this?"

"A couple of weeks ago. He said it had happened in mid-October, but because he couldn't see any proof that you had told me, he would have to inform me himself. What is this about, Kush?"

She sighed and grabbed a handful of chocolate chips, followed by a handful of chilled caramel chunks. "What exactly did he tell you?"

"He said that you had been attacked in mid-October, but that he wanted you to tell me yourself. He added in that I was not included in your oath."

"Okay." She took a deep breath, finding it a great deal easier to stare at the bowl than at her mother. "Since the beginning of summer, I have been doing research on Persephone for the Headmaster and the rest of the Dark Hunters. We've just been trying to figure out what it is that makes Her different than any of the Dark Lords and Ladies that have come before. We finally figured out that it was simply a question of beauty; what She thinks of as beautiful doesn't coincide with the average person's conception of it. We're just not sure where knowing that is really going to help. Back in October, I was the target of a rather ill-conceived recruitment attempt; the painter, Her current minion, got into the castle with the aid of a house-elf and trapped me into nightmares. We were able to stop them, but we haven't caught them yet."

Séraphine said nothing for a long moment, her golden blonde hair pulled away from her face by a simple tortoiseshell clip. Her mother was young still even by muggle standards, much less by wizarding standards. She winced when she realized that her mother was actually younger than the Headmaster by two years. Married at seventeen, a mother at eighteen, she was still young, still beautiful, with luminous blue eyes, pale skin, spun gold hair, and a trim figure. She got to enjoy very little of her beauty; she was engaged at a very young age and virginity was prized too highly in pureblood marriages to allow her the luxury of play. "Why you?" she asked finally.

She winced again. She had known it would be asked, but she really wasn't looking forward to explaining it. She kept stirring the cookie batter until her mother eventually just reached out and snatched the bowl from her lap. Sighing, she brushed a wisp of blood red hair from her cheek. "There are some…similarities. We see some things the same way, but I don't take the idea to the extreme the way She does."

"But you're safe now."

"We hope so."

Regarding her daughter solemnly, Séraphine set both bowls of dough on the low table between them. "Most girls would have said yes to prevent crowding."

"Most girls have to worry about crowding. I don't."

"And I don't suppose it would make one bit of difference if I asked you girls not to go to Howl until She's caught?"

Kushiel quirked an eyebrow, twirling her wand about in her hands to keep them occupied. "Somehow I highly doubt She's going to do anything in the middle of a muggle nightclub. She's deranged, Mum, not stupid."

"Thorn." A house elf with a frilly pinafore over it's immaculate pillow case winked into view at Séraphine's elbow, and the woman handed it both bowls. "Please set these to baking, will you?"

"Yes, Mistress."

The mistress of Hallowed Haven watched the elf trundle off, then turned her eyes back to her daughter. "I want you to promise me you'll be careful, pet. I can't say this doesn't worry me, but I also know I can't keep you from doing anything you feel you need to do. Just be careful."

"I will, Mum."

Getting to her feet, the Beauxbatons alumni came around the table and curled around her daughter in the arm chair. They sat like that for a time, Séraphine slowly rubbing her hand up and down Kush's arm. "Will you at least try harder to be nice to your Da?"

"I'll be nicer to Da, or nicer to Grandmother: take your pick."

She snickered and swatted the redhead lightly. "Oh no, my dear, you don't get to make that kind of ultimatum of me. You must be nicer to your Da. You can back down to civil with the harridan, if you wish to make a trade of it."

"Nicer to Da and ignoring Grandmother?"

"Civil, or I go back up to nice."

"Civil it is," Kushiel agreed, and they shook hands on it.

"He may surprise you, pet."

"I've little doubt that he will. The question is whether or not it will be a pleasant surprise."

"Wait and see, poppet. Then make you decision."

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The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear, which was a relief against the solid day of snow that had preceded it. By unspoken agreement, Kushiel and Rhonwyn had spent the night together in Rhonwyn's king sized bed, clutching each other's hands and talking late into the night. They had always been different, but close in spite of it, understanding each other in a way that no one else could. Now, things were about to change drastically. It should have changed when Rhon went off to Hogwarts, should have changed even more when Kush started at Avistrum, but it hadn't. Now, however, they feared the change. Different schools still meant that they shared the trials of being students, but now to be wife…that was something Kushiel could not understand.

Séraphine entered the room and stood at the foot of the bed, watching them. She had wished better for her daughters, for all that her eldest seemed happy with her very soon to be husband. Scooting onto the bed beside Rhonwyn, she stroked the glossy sable hair, pushing it gently away from her face. "Wake up, mon bisou," she whispered. "There is much to be done to prepare."

The two girls both awoke, stretching languidly. "What time is it, Mum?" Rhonwyn murmured sleepily.

"Later than your grandmother would wish," she answered humorously. "But your nanan was all for letting you sleep in."

"Do they really both have to help with the preparations? Can't it be just you and Kush?"

"Unfortunately, no." She smiled and kissed her elder daughter's forehead. "One of them will help you, one of them will help Kush, and they'll switch off. I'm there to make sure they don't kill each other."

"So does that mean you wouldn't stop one of us from attempting to do so?" Kush yawned, wincing as her mother smacked her lightly upside the head.

"Come on, sweetlings. We need to get you bathed."

The girls reluctantly rose from the comfortable and warm bed, following their mother to the master bathroom. They had one attached to the room, but it wasn't quite big enough for five people. Rhonwyn leaned over to whisper in her twin's ear. "Does it really take five people to take a bath?"

"I don't have to get married traditionally, so my answer would be no," she murmured back.

"An entire morning with both Grandmother and Nanan in close quarters…." She closed her large grey eyes squeezing Kush's hand tightly. "Nimue and Circe preserve us."

"Amen," Kushiel seconded fervently.

When they entered into the bathroom, the two grand-dames were waiting.

Meadhbh O'Grady was a tall, almost severely thin woman, with sharp features. Dark grey, almost black eyes regarded them in close scrutiny, her thin lips twitching in disapproval. Black hair, shot through with grey, weighted down her hair in a tight bun. Like her daughter in law, she was dressed simply in unbleached robes; they would change later for the binding ceremony. She was straight as a rail, and as stiff in one. After one of their more famous run-ins, Kushiel had darkly argued that the meaning of her name was true; intoxicating one, indeed, because after being around her everyone wanted to drink themselves into insensibility.

At the other end of the room, Zéphyrine de Navarre observed them with amusement sparkling in her astonishingly green eyes. She stood only three inches above five feet, the same height as her granddaughters, and her strawberry blonde hair cascaded in thick curls down her back, not a strand of grey in it. Her skin was smooth and unwrinkled, flawless in its pale beauty, and her figure well rounded. She looked barely old enough to be their mother, and acted young enough to be their older sister. They adored her entirely.

"Come," Meadhbh sniffed imperiously. "Off with those things and into the bath with you."

They glanced down at their simple pajama sets, so clearly not the nightgowns their grandmother would have preferred, and sighed. Kushiel was used to disrobing in front of other girls; it was not unusual on a hot day for the girls to lounge around one of the dorms in their underwear while they talked, but Rhonwyn had always been shy, and her cheeks burned a painful scarlet as she slowly pulled the red camisole over her head.

The water steamed in wispy silver spirals in the huge bathtub, with dried roses and lavender floating on the surface to release their subtle fragrances. Vanilla oil had been added too, floating in slightly discolored pools alongside the flowers. The two girls stepped carefully into the tub and sank down to their shoulders, hair floating about them.

Meadhbh came to stand beside Rhonwyn, holding a silver ewer in her bony hands. Dipping it into the tub, she lifted it up and emptied it over the girl, ignoring the muffled sound of protest. Zéphyrine stood beside Kushiel and gently poured the water over her head, shielding her granddaughter's eyes with one hand. The two women bathed the girls, bidding them to stand when necessary, washing their long hair. Séraphine perched up on the counter, her long legs crossed in tailor fashion.

The twins emerged from the bath, where their grandmothers rubbed them dry with oils rather than towels. For Rhonwyn, it was a heady gardenia, a scent with more a presence than she herself. For Kushiel, it was her traditional vanilla and roses. Zéphyrine moved to Rhonwyn and sat her down at one of the vanity stools, picking p a brush to gently untangle her knee length hair. Kushiel winced when Meadhbh dragged the brush through her thick curls, and her mother winced with her in sympathy. Weddings were one of the oldest rituals, and though the trappings changed, the honor never did; preparations were _au naturel_. Free of tangles and rubbed dry with silk, Zéphyrine took Rhonwyn's mass of hair in hand and pulled it back from her face, fastening two combs with fresh white roses to keep it in place. She brushed her eyelids carefully with kohl in thin black lines, staining her lips with berry juice and powdering her face in finely ground chalk. Her younger twin suffered patiently under her grandmother's ministrations until her mother rescued her, rewetting and rebrushing her hair to capture it gracefully in a complicated nine strand braid. Tiny dwarf roses were woven into the strands, white and pure. Her makeup mirrored her sister's, all completely natural.

Still nude, the two girls retreated from the chilly bathroom to wrap themselves in blankets in front of the fire in their mother's room, mindful not to muss the hair and makeup. Rhonwyn glanced down as her stomach rumbled loudly. "Natural I understand, but can't we please eat?"

"No," Meadhbh answered sharply.

"Why not?" Kush asked idly. "Food is natural, right?"

Her grandmother sighed deeply, an overly dramatic sound of long sufferance. "Kushiel, I know you have little enough reverence for anything, but could you at least pretend to have some respect for the traditions of our people?"

"I wasn't being disrespectful, Grandmother, I was simply asking," she replied mildly. "I'm just curious to know the reason behind the tradition."

"It is tradition; that is enough to know."

Zéphyrine rolled her eyes.

"So will it still be natural when my stomach grumbles in the middle of the binding?" Rhonwyn grumbled. Unlike her sister, who could handle the early hours well enough when she had to, she was not in any way a morning person. Grandmother had pushed for a dawn wedding, but on that one point, the bride-to-be had stuck to her guns.

A house elf with flower petals sewn painstakingly onto his pillowcase winked into the room, bowing to them all. "Florist regrets, misses, but florist is hases problems with the flowers."

"What!" Unadorned robes snapping behind her, Meadhbh shot to her feet and sailed out the door.

Zéphyrine glanced over at her daughter. "I certainly hope you're paying that florist extra."

"Twice the price he agreed upon with the harridan," she agreed. She clapped her hands and Thorn, the head elf for the kitchen, popped into the room with a large tray of steaming cinnamon buns and hot chocolate. White icing dripped down the sides of the pastries, with raisins sprinkled atop and inside. "Eat quickly; who knows when she'll be back."

"With someone to bitch at?" Kushiel pried a raisin off the top of her cinnamon bun, leaning her head back and dropping it in her mouth. "She'll be hours if someone doesn't distract her."

"Kush!" Rhonwyn giggled, scarfing down the food as quickly as possible. "She's not that bad."

"You only say that because you're the good child," her twin retorted. "She likes you."

"Quickses, misses," Thorn urged. "Herself is returns!"

The four women licked their fingers clean and finished off the dregs of their cocoa, placing them back on the tray just in time for the elf to wink out again. Meadhbh stalked back in, scowling fiercely. "Whatever made you hire that imbecile, Séraphine?" she demanded. "I swear, he is incapable of performing the simplest tasks correctly."

"He came highly recommended," the blonde replied mildly.

"Come. Enough dawdling. There is more to be done."

"How much more?" Rhonwyn groaned softly, burying her face in her sister's shoulder.

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Cliona smoothed her mint green dress, grateful for the Warming Charm that wrapped about her. Soft and clingy, the dress was far more suitable for late spring, but it was the most appropriate formal dress she owned. Most of the rest of her dresses were more suited towards Howl. It may not have been the traditional robes that were the choice of most of the other guests, but she thought she looked more than presentable.

Snow had fallen the day before; Sweet Nimue, had snow fallen. They'd been trapped in the house all day. Now, however, the snow covered the lawn in a clean white snow. Special charms had been laid upon it by the florists to keep it unmuddied and unsullied despite the traffic across it, and they'd set up the white folding chairs atop it. A deep blue velvet carpet split the congregation, strewn with white rose petals, leading up to a silver arch with deep green vines and white roses woven through the pickets. A sharp nudge in her ribs brought her attention back to her friends.

"Isn't that Guy's baby cousin?" Gwen whispered, pointing over to a red-faced infant wrapped in tartan.

"Yeah, that's Charlie. Charles Cooper," Aurelia giggled. Having cooed over the pictures for a straight week, she could identify him at least as well as Guy.

They fell silent at the sound of pan pipes, Rhonwyn's instrument of choice for her wedding music. The grandmothers had already joined their husbands on the bride's side, so they all turned in their seats to watch the procession of the wedding party.

Mrs. McAllison, a slender brunette in a flowing, pale blue set of robes, walked down the aisle of blue carpet on her husband's arm, a lacy handkerchief clasped in one gloved hand. She was followed a few moments later by Séraphine, walking alongside Amos. Cliona couldn't quite stifle the wonderment at seeing Amos clean and dressed up; she wondered what threats Séraphine had used to force him into it.

Carriegan snickered into her hand. "She should be next; I can't wait to see the bridesmaid's dress."

"Her mum promised it wouldn't be wretched."

"We're talking about her grandmother."

And then there was Kush. Her gown was elegant snow white covered in deep blue lace, sweeping off her shoulders and trailing behind her in a full skirt. She held a single white lily in her left hand, her right resting on Guy's arm. Guy and Pierce had grown up as friends, so it was only natural that the Scots in exile be his best man. Representing his native pride, Guy wore his blue, green, yellow, and red kilt with a white blouse and deep blue jacket. White socks came up to the knee, matching the white rabbit fur sporran. It was a wee bit incongruous, the Scotsman nearly a foot taller than the redhead, but just before the arch, he bowed and gallantly kissed her hand before they separated to their sides.

Kush took a deep breath and turned to face the way she'd come, watching the rest of the assembly stand in honor. "I'm not ready for this," she sighed to her mother.

"Who ever is?"

"Someone who's legally allowed to drink at their own wedding?" she murmured dryly.

Pierce McAllison was a tall young man with silky black hair down to his mid-back, tied back for the occasion in a simple queue. He wore a spotless white tuxedo with deep blue accoutrements, a red rose at his lapel. He nodded to Kushiel and Séraphine before taking his place at the arch, turning to watch his bride approach.

Rhonwyn had that radiance that all brides seemed to have, whether they'd chosen their husbands or not. Despite the fierce pang in her heart as she watched her sister clutching for dear life to their father's arm, Kushiel had to admit that she Rhon seemed luckier than most; while Rhonwyn and Pierce might not have been desperately in love, they seemed well on their way towards it. Her dress was nearly identical to her sister's, the style an exact copy but for a longer train. Deep blue silk clung to her body before whispering out to full skirts, the entire piece covered in snowy white lace. Amidst a knot of trailing ivy, white and red roses peered out from the bouquet in her left hand.

Much to Kush's surprise, Aidan O'Grady had cleaned up rather well for his elder daughter's wedding. He looked decidedly uncomfortable in the deep blue tuxedo, but he managed not to fidget too much, his dark brown hair falling about his face. Delivering his daughter at the end of the aisle to her nearly-husband, he came to stand behind his younger daughter and wife.

All eyes turned to the binder, a venerable old man nearly lost within his voluminous white robes. Watery blue eyes smiled kindly at the young couple, but when he spoke, his voice was surprisingly strong. "We are here today to celebrate a union between two souls, one which shall last through eternity and beyond. From this time forward, they will no longer be man and woman, but husband and wife, bound to each other body, mind, and heart. Pierce James McAllison, do you undertake this wholeheartedly?"

"I do," came the firm reply, and Pierce smiled down at his bride.

"Do you swear to love, to honor and cherish, to protect and to serve, to strengthen and to shelter this woman all the rest of your days?"

"I do."

"Do you, Rhonwyn Siobhann O'Grady, undertake this wholeheartedly?"

"I do," Rhonwyn answered, glancing up the foot and four inches to her groom.

"Do you swear to love, to honor and cherish, to protect and to serve, to strengthen and to shelter this man all the rest of your days?"

"I do."

"Are there any here who object to this union?"

Under the sharp eye of her Grandmother, Kushiel didn't even visibly bite her cheek, for which she was very proud of herself. Silence reigned for a moment among the guests, and the old man blessed them with a gap toothed smile.

The binder held out his hand palm up, the joints gnarled from age and the veins running close to the surface. "By fire, I bind thee." A small wreath of red-orange flames crackled into his hand, running around Pierce and Rhonwyn's joined hands. "By water, I bind thee." Leaping from his fingers, a stream of water wove itself around the fire, not touching, but simply circling. "By earth, I bind thee." A small sprinkling of soil joined the running elements. "By air, I bind thee." Hardly visible but for the effect on the other three coils, a breeze began blowing around the clasped hands. "By nature itself, I bind thee, ne'er to be sundered. Peace be with thee, husband and wife."

Silence once again covered the assembly, and the old man grinned roguishly. "That's your cue to kiss her, boy!"

Pierce actually looked startled, and a murmuring laugh rippled through the seated guests. Bending down, he placed a gentle kiss against his wife's lips that managed not to look too awkward, and Rhonwyn blushed becomingly.

"I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. McAllison!"

The guests applauded enthusiastically, then followed the binder into the house for the reception. Cliona stood and caught Kushiel's eye, waiting for their friend to accompany them. Making a face, the redhead lifted her hands to her face and made a clicking gesture: wedding pictures. Nodding in understanding sympathy, Cliona walked with the other girls inside the house, leaving the wedding party and immediate family to their 'fun'.

"Holy shit!" Elowen whispered as they walked into the ballroom.

Carriegan smirked. "It's a pureblood wedding, El, what did you expect?"

"For the snow to stay outside?"

Long tables swathed in deep blue silk and laden with all manner of food and drink lined the walls, silver and white snow enchanted to flurry down from the ceiling, evaporating before it could land on any of the guests. Raven's comment brought their attention to the tables furthest from the double doors.

"Aren't they supposed to wait for the wedding party to arrive before they start digging in?"

The girls all looked to where she pointed, and Carriegan started laughing. "Oh, this is priceless!"

Elena shook her head. "I don't get it."

Still chuckling, the metamorphmagus brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes, momentarily a respectable blond in honor of the occasion. "You saw how Mrs. O'Grady was running the caterers ragged yesterday. This is their revenge?"

"Yes, because slaking someone's thirst is such a great revenge." Gwen rolled her eyes, but the Colubrae girl simply smirked.

"If you're using what they're using to slake said thirst, hells yeh."

By the time the wedding party finally trooped in from the long round of photographs, a large portion of the guests were well and truly toasted due to the generosity of the caterers. As far as Cliona was concerned, it was a prime example of an Irish wedding. Somehow, however, she didn't think the formidable Mrs. O'Grady would see it that way. Sure enough, when the expected polite handshakes and stiff semi-embraces of the receiving line turned out to be draping hugs and enthusiastic busses on the lips or cheek, the matriarch's nostrils turned white with fury, rage radiating from her ramrod straight frame. Her granddaughters very carefully didn't look at each other for fear of laughing.

Despite the unexpected amusement of sloppy guests, the receiving line was pure tedium, the same half-sincere words of congratulations and inquiry. Following her mother's advice, the redhead zoned out mentally and replied to the nosy inquiries of her own marriage arrangements with cool but civil disdain. The end was nearly in sight when she suddenly found herself draped from behind, one large hand grabbing her breast and squeezing it tightly.

"Hey, baby, have you missed me?"

The look the maid of honor sent her mother could have killed a stone.

"Padriac, what the hell are you doing here!" Séraphine demanded sharply, but the extremely drunk young man either didn't notice or pretended not to hear, stumbling around her daughter to fall on her from the front. "Padraic!"

"I know I've missed you," the young man snickered, burrowing his face into her neck. "And I know a certain someone else has, too," he added, fondling his crotch.

Her vivid green eyes narrowed dangerously. "Get the hell away from me," she hissed.

"Ah, Mister FitzEiyran," Meadhbh greeted graciously. "So good of you to join us."

"Come away with me, Kushie," Padraic groaned, fondling her breast through the silk and lace. "We'll find a nice warm closet and have some fun."

Before anyone could make sense of what was happening, Padraic found himself sprawled on the floor with Kushiel's ebonwood wand pointed at him. "You have one chance, Asshole," she told him through gritted teeth. "Leave now."

"But Kushie-"

Séraphine reached out to try to stop her daughter, she truly did, but the hexes were delivered before any word could be said. Resigned, her blue eyes dancing with mirth, she settled back to watch the ensuing disaster. Padraic's hazel eyes grew wide as a curious sensation began rippling through his bum, then he heard an ominous sound of tearing. He shot to his feet, nearly falling over himself in his drunken haste. As they watched, his rear end continued growing, splitting through his trousers and underwear, until the pale globes were nearly the size of all the rest of him; even yoga balls would have been put to shame by the twin halves of his ass. His hair started flaking horribly, snowing dandruff onto his dark robes, and in an unforeseeable event due to the combination of the two hexes, the skin of his butt began flaking off in powdery falls of dead skin as well, to which Rhonwyn delicately averted her eyes. Entirely unrepentant, Kushiel glared at him as he scuttled out of the room as quickly as his massive rear end and drunkenness would allow.

"Young lady, how dare you-"

Kushiel spared her sputtering Grandmother half a glance before meeting Rhonwyn's eyes. Sympathetic, her minutes older sister took her hand a gave her a light squeeze, nodding towards the side door. "Go," she mouthed, and the redhead nodded with relief. Without giving Meadhbh another thought, she gathered her skirts about her and left the room.

"Oh, dear." Elena made as if to follow her friend out, but Cliona stopped her with a hand on the arm.

"Let her be," she murmured.

"Who was that?" Aurelia inquired, twirling the end of one pigtail around her finger.

"That, my friends, was Padraic FitzEiyran, and Kush's first love. He claimed her between fifth and sixth year and promptly broke her heart." There was more to it, of course, but those were Kush's secrets to tell, not hers, so Cliona simply left it at that. "Today's hard enough, with her sister getting married. Give her some time to get her balance back."

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Shivering, the redhead re-cast her Warming Charm, leaning back deeper into the curled wingspan of the statue of Henri-Michel and Arianrhod. Her skirts pooled around her, spilling down the lip of the plinth in falls of white and midnight. She knew she would have to go in, soon, but she really didn't want to. Rhonwyn and Pierce would be apparating out at midnight, off to their honeymoon and the beginning of their life together, and she just didn't want to have to say goodbye. So, she stayed curled up within the embrace of the grave marker, the sad and distant Lord of Tears standing over her.

She flinched when she felt someone brush her shoulder, so lost within her own thoughts that she hadn't even been aware of the approach. From the corner of her eye, she saw her da sitting next to her. He didn't say anything at first, and after a time, she let her gaze drift back to the far hills.

"It's rather chilly," Aidan observed mildly, and his daughter shrugged elegantly.

"It's December, it's supposed to be."

"May I?"

She glanced at him again, not entirely sure what he meant, and squeaked when he lifted her and shifted her into his lap, wrapping his thick winter cloak about her. He scooted over to the spot she had been in, finding it to be a perfect shelter from the wind, and leaned back against the statue. "It's rather chilly," he repeated simply.

"Ah."

She shouldn't have been surprised to see the stars coming out; it was the night after Solstice, after all, and they were in northern Ireland, but there was something supremely comforting in seeing Orion high overhead. The myths surrounding the constellation were huge in number, but ever since Séraphine had first pointed out the cluster of stars, she had regarded the hunter as a protector, someone to guard her dreams and keep her secrets.

"In Australia, you can see a constellation called the Southern Cross," her father commented, running his hand absently along Kushiel's long red braid. "The first time I saw it, it was low on the horizon, and seemed huge. One of the legends says that it is a sword that once belonged to Orion, and he set it aside for the bow and arrow when he saw he could never truly catch up to Taurus. The gods thought to put it out of the sky, returning it to pure light it had been before its making, but the Fates stayed their hands, foretelling that one day, a new hero would arise to take the sword in hand and perform great and terrible deeds. So, the gods left it in the sky, awaiting the grip of a new hero."

"You've changed, haven't you, Da?" She asked quietly.

He smoothed a wisp of hair from her eyes and gently gripped her chin in his hand, turning her face towards him. "I hope so," he answered honestly. "I won't ask you to forgive me, Kushiel; I've hurt you too much for that, and it will take time, if ever. What I will ask is that you give me a chance." He smiled ruefully. "I'm new to this learning curve.

"It'll be hard," she whispered.

"I know." He reached into the inside pocket on the tuxedo jacket and pulled out a heart shaped silver locket, the chain puddled in his palm. He straightened out the chain and draped it about her neck, carefully fastening the clasp. "I know."

Curling her hand around her repaired legacy locket, Kush said nothing and merely rested her head against her father's shoulder. It was a beginning; the rest would unfold as it would.


	15. The Mistletoe Marauders

**Disclaimer: Somehow, despite my valiant attempts, the characters have still not agreed to run amuck with me, so they are still not mine. Please don't sue me. I'm a college student; I can barely afford to buy groceries, much less pay legal fees. Avistrum is the property of Avistrum, LLC.**

_Chapter Fifteen: The Mistletoe Marauder_

"Which do you suppose is worse, jet lag or apparation lag?"

They all looked at Gwen, who regarded them innocently. "What?" she asked. "It's a reasonable question. It accomplishes the same thing, only apparation is instantaneous and airplanes aren't."

"Having never flown on an airplane, I really couldn't answer you there, Gwen," Kushiel yawned, barely reaching her hand up in time to conceal it. "Is everyone ready?"

Aurelia grabbed the handle of her rolling suitcase, dark pink, her small duffel, light pink, and her messenger pack bookbag, pink and white. "I'm ready," she mumbled. Mornings really weren't her thing. She apparated out, followed by Cliona and Carriegan, then Elena, and one by one, the other girls winked out of view.

Kushiel took a moment to take one last breath of home and found herself enveloped in an embrace from behind. Smiling, she leaned back into her mother, her eyes closed contentedly.

"Are you sure you won't stay for Christmas?" Séraphine murmured in her ear.

"I'm sure, Mum." She reluctantly pulled out of her mother's arms and turned to meet her grave blue eyes. "I admit that Da has changed, but let's not rush the waters, shall we? I just don't want to have to get used to having Christmas without Rhon and have to get used to Da being back at the same time. Maybe that's selfish of me, but-"

"But it's perfectly understandable," the blonde woman finished for her. She held her daughter close for a moment, then let her go. "Be well, precious."

Watching them from the front door, Aidan smiled slightly. He didn't blame his daughter for wanting to leave; he was still adjusting to the changes he'd made himself, and still understanding why they were so important. Pulling his hands from his pockets, he walked down the steps to stand next to the two indomitable de Navarre women. "Your professors know to expect you?" he asked quietly.

"I think so, though nothing was ever explicitly discussed." She shot her mother a warning look when the woman snorted. "They're not about to turn me out into the cold, though, even if I do end up being a surprise."

Nodding, he reached out and slipped an arm about her shoulders, pulling her close so he could press a gently kiss against her forehead. "Happy Christmas, precious. Be well."

Kushiel nodded in response and reached down to pick up her small overnight bag and backpack, slinging the latter over one shoulder. "I'll Floo call on Christmas," she told them a split second before apparating out.

Her parents stood watching the spot where she had been for several moments, until Séraphine looked up at her husband of a little over eighteen years. "Whisky?" she suggested, and he actually chuckled.

"Why am I not surprised that's your approach to the birdies leaving the nest?"

"Because you've finally grown older and wiser," she quipped, threading her fingers through his as they turned to walk back to the house. Séraphine Renée de Navarre could, and often did when it amused her to do so, hold grudges even longer than her younger daughter, but she had learned over the years when it was and was not appropriate. She had never been wildly in love with her husband, though she had grown to be fond of him but she was above all else pragmatic. They had to relearn how to live with one another, and that started now.

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To say that the Headmaster was surprised to see someone walking up the path from the gates would be giving too little credit to the depth of his reaction. He was shocked as hell. He and his colleagues had prepared so carefully for none of the students to be present, and here one was. A slight scowl darkening his face, he waited with Professors Ward and Bloodthorne at the entrance to the school.

"Oh, look, it's a redhead," Kraven observed in a would-be innocent voice. "I wonder who that could possibly be."

"What the hell is she doing here?" Clark demanded, running a hand through his dark brown, almost black, hair. He'd been meaning to cut it, it was really getting too long, but he couldn't seem to find the time.

"Why don't you ask her?" Tyler suggested mildly. "She's almost here."

Kushiel quirked an eyebrow at their expressions as she rounded the fountain, stopping some few feet in front of them at the base of the stairs. "I sense a problem," she announced lightly, her brogue far more pronounced than usual.

"What are you doing here, Kush?"

"I'm here for the rest of break, she answered slowly, one hand clutching the strap of her small overnight bag.

"To my office," Clark ordered. "We need to Floo your mother."

Thoroughly baffled the student fell in beside the six foot four Care of Magical Beasts Professor. "What's going on?"

"He wanted all the students out," Tyler murmured. "He's afraid She might attack the school during the holidays."

"No, She won't. Holidays are too beautiful to stain with blood."

He looked at her oddly but didn't comment, and soon enough, the four were greeting the sphinx to enter the office. Clark gestured to a simple wooden chalice on the mantle. "If you could, please, Kush?"

She snorted, shoulders shaking.

"What?"

"You really use the Holy Grail to hold your Floo powder?"

He at least had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Well, as long as it's just sitting there…"

Shaking her head, Kushiel reached in and took a handful of the fine pale green powder. She knelt before the fire and tossed it in. Watching the flames turn green, she stuck her hand in and knocked against the grate. "Hallowed Haven."

A moment later, a house elf appeared in the flames. "It's a Miss!" It squeaked.

Kush smiled. "Tulip, could you get my mum, please?"

"Yes, Miss!"

The four waited in silence for the several minutes it took for Séraphine to come to the fire. Her blue eyes narrowed warily. "Qu'est-ce qui se passes, precious?"

"Je ne sais pas, Maman. Le maître était shoqué me voir."

"Pourquoi?"

"Madame de Navarre," Clark interrupted, and both mother and daughter turned to him with identical, and slightly frightening, expressions of amusement. "Did you not receive the letter we sent out some time ago?"

Séraphine's eyes widened ingenuously, and Kushiel fought the urge to snicker. The Headmaster really had no idea who he was about to be dealing with. "What letter?"

"We sent out a letter to all parents asking them to keep their children home this holiday," he explained patiently. "We need the school to be empty of all students during the break."

"But Kushiel is already there."

"Well, yes, but would it be possible for her to return?"

"She already has returned."

One of Tyler's large hands rose to cover his growing smile.

Clark blinked in surprise, then tried again. "We meant to return to you at Hallowed Haven."

"Oh, no!" Séraphine protested, blonde hair spilling over her shoulder. "She'd be here all alone!"

"What?"

Kushiel knew better than to disturb her mother's plot, and so kept her face expressionless, but she was curious to see where this was headed.

"Mais oui, her da and I are headed out on a second honeymoon," the woman informed them. "We have to get to know each other again, n'est-ce pas?"

Somewhere in the midst of his confusion, it occurred to Clark to wonder why Kushiel spoke in the lilt of Ireland and her mother voiced the sounds of France. "Could she go to her grandmother's?"

"Non, non, non! Rhonywyn and Pierce are spending their honeymoon there, Monsiuer. If there are too many people, they will have no privacy. Non, Chez des Anges est impossible."

"Chethegez detheges Athegeanges?" Kushiel inquired finally, falling back into Gibberish. "Whethegen dithegid thethegeir plathegans chathegange?"

"Dithegid yothegou wathegant tothego hathegave tothego cothegome bathegack hethegere?"

"Nothegot pathegartithegicuthegulathegarlythegy."

"Thethegen huthegush athegand letheget methege wothegork."

"Outhegi, Mathegamathegan."

Gibberish was a language that Aurelia and Kushiel had separately brought to the academy and taught their friends. As heads of house, Kraven and Tyler had had seven years to hear and learn the odd way of speaking. Tyler turned away, shoulders shaking as he became suddenly fascinated with something outside the window. Kraven simply smirked, his arms crossed against his chest as he leaned against one of the bookshelves.

Clark glanced between his companions and the innocent face in the fire, suspicious to the extreme. He was not a head of house, and therefore lacked the advantage of his two colleagues. "So, what's the verdict?"

"Je suis desolée, Monsiuer Dowling, mais c'est impossible," Séraphine apologized sincerely. "Besides," she added. "I trust her safety with you. I know you will not allow any harm to come to my daughter."

His heart sinking, Clark realized that there was absolutely nothing he could say to that that wouldn't make him look bad. "Thank you for your time, Madame de Navarre," he sighed. "I wish you an enjoyable time on your honeymoon."

"I'm French, Monsieur; was there any doubt?" she asked archly, laughing wickedly when the man blushed. She turned to her daughter with a sweet, though slightly impish, smile. "Joyeux Noel, precious."

"Joyeux Noel, Mum."

The flames turned red and orange, signaling the disconnection, and Kushiel remained kneeling, hands resting complacently on her thighs, looking up patiently as Clark struggled towards a decision. The other two regarded him expectantly, as well, and he scowled darkly.

"I'm not about to throw you out in the snow, Kitten. For Merlin's sake, get up."

She hid her smile and rose gracefully to her feet. "May I head to my dorm then, sir?"

"Yes, be off with you."

She walked out of the office, aware of the billowing robes whispering behind her. "Can I help you, Professor?"

Kraven looked down at her, the smirk still tugging at his resistant lips. "Youthegou athegare fothegortuthegunathegate ithegin yothegour mothegothethegor," he noted.

"As well as in my head of house," she agreed, emerald eyes dancing.

"And your sister and brother-in-law are in…"

"New Atlantis. Grandmother insisted."

"Your Grandmother is a harridan."

"That is so very true, sir. So very true."

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"Diamonds, I need your help."

Kush looked up from her book. "Sure, F5, what are you plotting?"

Fineus sat down next to her in the library windowseat, leaning against the microsuede blanket in which she was wrapped. "I need something really good to do to Lysander. I haven't pranked him in quite some time."

She grinned at him. "Fin, it's Christmas."

"So? That's no reason not to-"

"That's not what I meant."

He stared at her for a moment, then broke into a broad smile. "Strife, you're a genius!" Planting a large, wet kiss on her cheek, he bounded off.

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not, sir." She adjusted the blanket closer around her. "Would you care to join me?"

Mordecai Argiletum, late of the Timmernak Academy for Boys and the successor of Skyler Adams as librarian after the unexpected elopement of the other man, adjusted his spectacles and looked down at her. "That depends," he answered with the hint of a smile. "What are you reading?"

She held up the book, its cracked leather binding carefully reinforced with spells to keep it whole. "The diary of Shiloh Tilden."

"Ah." He sat beside her in the windowseat, his purple bow tie stark against his black tie and suspenders. "I recall reading that at some point in the past, Skyler recommended it strongly for its observations on immediately pre-Civil War America."

"She's also quite the interesting person," she agreed. "Part of me wonders if the Headmaster might not be descended from the family she stayed with during the rain."

Mordecai chuckled delightedly. "I have never thought to ask him, to be honest, Madamoiselle de Navarre. Perhaps you should take care of that when next you see him?"

She grinned, but shook her head. "I don't think he's too happy with me right now, sir," she explained. "Apparently I'm not supposed to be here."

"I had wondered at that myself," he agreed. "But then, my friend left me a very detailed letter in which he warned me to keep a safe distance from any plotting you and the other queens might do."

"Oh, but it's not just the queens anymore," she protested innocently. "We have cohorts now."

"Perhaps that's even more worrisome." Smiling, he rose to his feet. "Enjoy the diary, Madamoiselle. If you'd like to check it out to take back to your dorm, just sign the sheet on my desk and I'll put it into the books for you."

"Thank you, sir."

A few hours later, the blanket still loosely draped about her, Kushiel left the library with the book tucked under one elbow. As she was approaching the Headmaster's office, however, there seemed to be some kind of furor. She drew her wand cautiously, keeping it concealed behind the baby blue blanket, and crept forward. What she saw made her stop dead, but not from fear. It was simply impossible to laugh that hard and still move forward.

Late in the semester, the Headmaster had enchanted Lysander's plaque to travel at his will, so that the deposed vampire lord could travel about the school. It hung now outside the office, with a highly disgruntled vampire wearing a bright red Santa hat, a sprig of mistletoe hovering immediately over his head. He snarled at Fineus, who merely chortled and ducked behind Professor Bloodthorne. Looking somewhat dismayed, Robin Kayenta seemed to be trapped within a two foot proximity.

"Dare I ask?"

Kraven turned his head, eyebrows drawn together in the fierce scowl she recognized as his attempt not to laugh. "Apparently Fineus decided to have some fun at Lysander's expense." He didn't miss the conspiratorial wink that passed between Leprechaun and student.

"Oh, dear." Emerald eyes widened. "She's not going to be able to get out of there unless she kisses him, will she?"

"Nopes!"

"Ah."

Kushiel slid her wand back into her sleeve and rewrapped the blanket about her shoulders, tilting her head to one side and merely watching along with the leprechaun and her head of house.

The gentle, quiet nurse flushed a deep red. "This is ridiculous!" she protested. "You can't actually mean for me to-"

"The charm's in place, Robin," Fineus explained in a would be innocent manner. "I can't do anything about it."

"With all due respect, ma'am, you might want to get it over with," Kushiel suggested. "Knowing Mischeif, here, he probably added something into the charm to make it get worse the longer you fight it."

Fineus had, in all truth, done no such thing, but he certainly wasn't about to let the flustered infirmary keeper know that.

Screwing her eyes tightly shut, Robin leaned in and planted a quick kiss on Lysander's snarling lips, fleeing several yards down the hill as soon as the line lifted. Wiping a hand across her mouth, she scowled at them. "I hope Santa fills your bed with coal," she told Fineus dourly, stalking down the hall in a manner quite unlike her usual mien.

Relieved that the matter was settled, Kraven swished his robes behind him and started walking after Robin, only to find himself stuck within the line. "What the hell-"

"Fin, you didn't make a gender difference!"

The leprechaun smiled ingenuously, spreading his hands wide. "There are only three females staying in the school over the holiday, Diamonds, and that includes yourself."

"Ah." She cocked her head to one side, regarding the scene thoughtfully. "No offense, sir," she addressed her Head of House, "but I'm just as glad he didn't." She hid her smirk at his furious glower. "Fin, can the charm affect more than one person at a time?"

"No…"

Calmly holding the blanket close about her, she walked by her Head of House to join Fineus on the other side, glancing back at the tall, black clad man. "Sorry, sir." She continued on to her dormitory, hearing the leprechaun's chuckles follow her all the way down the corridor.

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When Cliona and Carriegan collapsed in her bedroom after the rousing snowball fight with the whole of Clan McCullough, Carriegan didn't draw notice to the new hickey on her neck, and Cliona didn't point it out. They both knew it was there, of course, but actually acknowledging its presence would probably just have been awkward.

"So what's next?" Carriegan asked breathlessly, and her lycan friend laughed.

"For now, we rest," she answered, yawning hugely. "Later on tonight, we'll do the first night of caroling, and you'll need your energy."

"How could I possibly rest?" The metamorphmagus demanded, but startled herself by yawning a moment later.

Cliona just laughed. "Sleep. Christmas is madcap enough around my house as it is, you don't need to add sleep deprivation on top of it."

Curling up on Cliona's childhood bed, still rather damp from their exertions outside, the pair of friends fell asleep in spite of the weak afternoon light filtering in through the window.

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Aurelia blinked in the late Phoenix night, cuddling in closer to her older sister as they sat on the couch in front of the fireplace. It was odd being surrounded by muggle appliances, for all that their mother was a muggle. But, despite not having seen her sister in nearly ten years, they had come together fabulously. She sneaked a peek at her from under her lashes.

Analilian Hepburn was nearly thirty, but didn't look it. Her dancer's body stayed lithe and slender through her teaching, and she moved with a grace that the somewhat clumsy Aurelia could only envy. Their features were much the same, but Lily had ashy brown hair that she usually pulled back from her head in a smooth bun, small wisps escaping to fall about her face, with clear hazel eyes that could pierce right through a person. She sat in a dark blue cowl neck sweater and black slacks, her feet propped up on her coffetable in white socks with a whole over the left big toe.

Aurelia adored her. They'd been catching up on the last decade or so, drinking coffee so dressed with chocolate and vanilla that the girl couldn't even taste the coffee, which was the only reason she was actually drinking it. The fire was warm against the snow outside, it wasn't yet Christmas, and she felt like her family was complete, despite her parents not being there.

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"Wake up!"

Startled out of dreaming by the very loud voice, Kushiel shot up in her bed, her wand out. By the time the sleep cleared from her eyes, she found herself staring at an equally surprised leprechaun, her wand pressing into his nose. "Fin, what the hell?"

He cleared his throat and backed slightly away. "I thought you might like to go caroling now that it's Christmas Eve," he offered.

Glancing down at her watch, she quirked one carefully sculpted eyebrow. "Fin, it's three in the morning."

"Exactly."

A slow smile tugged at her lips, and she shook her head with a chuckle. "You're pure evil. Are we planning a duet or do we have cohorts?"

"We have a trio," he answered, watching her get out of bed and pull on warm socks. He handed her the baby blue blanket from the foot of her bed. "Tyler is joining us, but he didn't feel it entirely appropriate to come up into the girls' dorm."

She snorted slightly, draping the blanket about her shoulders. Fineus had been popping into her dormitory for as long as she could remember. Professor Bloodthorne maintained that it was due to the leprechaun having more than four hundred years to increase his perversion. She couldn't entirely disagree, but most of Fin's fellow troublemakers were in Colubrae, so it only made sense. She followed him down to the common room, thinking belatedly of getting a clip to tame her hair, but it was three in the morning. How many were actually going to be clear headed enough to see her?

Tyler Ward looked up when the pair came into the room, dressed in dark blue pajamas and a housecoat in what looked like dark brown velvet. Her eyebrows rose at it, it didn't look at all his style, and he grinned. "A gift from an old girlfriend," he explained. "Apparently she felt walking around the apartment in boxers was a bit gauche."

"I can't imagine why," she murmured, trying not to giggle at the sight of Fineus in a long white nightshirt that trailed the floor at his ankles. "So what's our route?"

"We'll make it up as we go."

Together, the professor, the leprechaun, and the student strolled out of the common room, their first destination the far side of the castle, at Professor Kobiyashi's door. They shared looks, deciding what best to start with, and Fineus decided to take the initiative.

"_Crashing through the snow  
In a one horse open sleigh  
O'er the cliff we go  
Shrieking all the way  
Bells and sirens ring  
Marking where we crashed  
They put us in intensive care  
They don't think we will last  
Jingle bells, funeral bells,  
ringing all the way  
Oh what fools we were to ride  
in that one horse open sleigh  
Jingle bells, funeral bells,_

_ringing all the way  
Oh what fools we were to ride  
in that one horse open sleigh!"_

As soon as they heard the crashing of a not entirely awake Professor Kobiyashi come near the door, they ran, racing out of the corridor and around the corner before the door could open and give way. Chuckling, they proceeded on to their next victim, Nurse Kayenta in this case. Fineus hid himself slightly behind Tyler, which made an amusing picture, with the Keeper two feet taller than the leprechaun.

Kush winked at Fineus and started, her clear soprano mocking the words as the other two listened and joined in.

_"We wish you a Merry Christmas_

_We wish you a Merry Christmas_

_ We wish you a Merry Christmas_

_Now bring us some beer!_

_Good tidings we bring_

_To you and your kin_

_Good tidings of Christmas_

_Now bring us some beer!_

_Oh, bring us some frothy coldness_

_Oh, bring us some frothy coldness_

_Oh, bring us some frothy coldness_

_And shot of good cheer!_

_Good tidings we bring_

_To you and your kin_

_Good tidings of Christmas_

_Now bring us some beer!_

_We won't go until we get some_

_We won't go until we get some_

_We won't go until we get some_

_So bring us some beer!"_

Again, they ran as soon as they heard movement. By the time they'd repeated the process at the doors of the other three non-carolers staying at the castle, their energy was not yet diminished. Tyler led the raid on the kitchen, securing the aid of the house elves in keeping them supplied with doctored hot chocolate and fresh s'mores. They had to show the creatures how to make the campfire treats, but when they left, the elves were happily toasting marshmallows over the flames of the hearth. The three set up camp outside the Headmaster's office once Fineus lifted the mistletoe charm off of Lysander, determined to give the vampire head the show of his life. It was wonderful to actually be able to hear the gnashing of his teeth over their singing.

They took a break at four thirty to wolf down more s'mores and listen to one of Jolly's favorite ditties, a song that had nothing to do with Christmas and was in fact so bad that it made even Fineus' ears turn pink. She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to hear Venus in Astronomy without blushing. They were barely able to avert disaster when Lysander made a nasty comment and promptly found himself staring down the barrels of the long nines.

Giving the ship a warning look, (for all their truce, there was still no question that she'd rip him to shreds if he got out of line), Kush took a swig of her cooling cocoa, almost more Brendans and Kahlua than cocoa, to clear her throat and started singing again.

_"The first day after Christmas, my true love and I had a fight_

_I chopped that wretched pear tree down and burned it just for spite_

_Then with a single cartridge, I shot that blasted partridge_

_My true love, my true love, my true love gave to me"_

Chuckling, and thoroughly enjoying his whiskey doctored drink, Tyler took the second verse, his rich baritone echoing slightly through the corridor.

_"The second day after Christmas, I pulled on the old rubber gloves_

_And very gently wrung the necks of both the turtledoves_

_My true love, my true love, my true love gave to me"_

Fineus chortled and took his turn, finishing out the pattern to be set with his bright tenor.

_"The third day after Christmas, my mother caught the croup_

_I had to use the three French hens to make some chicken soup"_

_"The four calling birds were a big mistake,_

_For their language was obscene._

_The five golden rings were a big mistake, and they turned my fingers green."_

_"The sixth day after Christmas, the six laying geese wouldn't lay_

_I took the whole damn gaggle to the ASPCA._

_On the seventh day, what a mess I found_

_The seven swans a-swimming all had drowned_

_My true love, my true love, my true love gave to me."_

_"The eighth day after Christmas, before they could suspect_

_I bundled up the _

_Eight maids a-milking_

_Nine ladies dancing, _

_Ten lords a-leaping_

_Eleven pipers piping,_

_Twelve drummers drumming-"_

Kush giggled and interrupted Fineus, laying one hand on his arm. "Eleven, actually. I kept one of the drummers."

He snorted and continued.

_"-and sent them back collect."_

They all joined in, laughing.

_"I wrote my true love, 'we are through, love',_

_And I said in so many words_

_'Furthermore your Christmas gifts were for the birds!"_

As Kush held out the high note with birds, Fineus and Tyler came underneath with "Four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree!"

It wasn't until she shivered and reached for her wand to perform a Warming Charm that Kush realized she'd left her wand in her room. She pulled the blanket tightly around her and wrapped her hands around her fresh and streaming mug. At that point, Fineus and Jolly raced off to do further mischief upon the Headmaster, leaving Kushiel and Tyler to talk. Disgusted, Lysander swiveled back to the inside of the office, finally free of the geis of Fineus' charms.

"So why did your mother help you squirrel out of going home?" he asked, knocking back the dregs of his drink and watching it instantly refill.

She shrugged casually. "She doesn't see the need to make me get used to a house **with** Da and **without **Rhon at the same time. Besides, she has to get used to Da again, and she needs some space to do that." She frowned slightly. "I wonder why she didn't tell me about that letter when she got it, though."

"Probably for the same reason you didn't tell her about the painter when that happened," he returned lightly. "Which, I'll confess, I still don't entirely understand."

"I didn't want her to worry."

"Kush, I daresay your mother knows you enough to know she should worry whether she **knows** something's going on or not." He chuckled again as she lightly whapped his arm. "How was your sister's wedding?"

"The ceremony was beautiful, I suppose. She and Pierce look ridiculous together, but also really good."

"Ridiculous?"

"Pierce is three inches taller than you."

His eyes went wide, and he couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. "You're right, that would look pretty silly, wouldn't it? But everything went alright?"

"Until a very drunk Padraic showed up in the receiving line at the reception, sure."

"Ouch."

They sat for a time in silence, during which the cold seeped through the drink and the blanket. When he noticed her start shivering, he wrapped a companionable arm around her shoulder and loaned her some of his warmth.

"Sir, why don't you ever go to your family for Christmas?" she asked after a time.

He looked down at her, his eyes a little distant. "Well, it can be a bit awkward sometimes," he admitted. "It wasn't, at first, when we were all younger. But, my father and my older brothers are muggles, so the older we've gotten, the more resentment has grown. You get used to doing things by magic, and it's a little odd when you're around people who can't. Plus, their wives have never been told."

She nodded a little, thinking of the village. The villagers all knew, of course, about the folks of the manner being magical, but it didn't keep resentment from brewing. Instead, it almost seemed to increase it, as if they felt some magical geis kept them tied to the land, when it was nothing more than their own reluctance to move.

The sphinx observed them from its plinth, tail curled under her front paws and her head cocked slightly. When the conversation lagged, she cleared her throat, bringing their attention to her. "Do you perhaps know _O Holy Night_?" The statue asked them. "That's always been a favorite of mine."

Smiling, Kush nodded, taking a sip of her cocoa, which, after six mugs of it, was giving her a slight buzz. She started in a pure, clear soprano, voice caressing the notes.

_"Oh, holy night,_

_The stars are brightly shining_

_It is the night of our dear saviour's birth_

_Long lay the world _

_In sin and error pining_

_Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth"_

She started in surprise but kept singing as Tyler joined in, his resonant voice providing a surprisingly soft baritone counterpoint.

_"A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices_

_For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn_

_Fall on your knees_

_Oh hear the angel's voices_

_Oh night divine_

_Oh night, when Christ was born_

_Oh night divine_

_Oh night, o night divine."_

The sphinx closed her eyes appreciatively, head resting on top of her paws as the stunning harmony around the highest note embraced her. If she had been flesh and blood, there probably would have been goosebumps on the back of her human neck. Tyler smiled down at Kush, who grinned in reply. When they heard a shrill scream that could only have come from Sachiko or Robin, they both dissolved into quiet laughter, awaiting the triumphant return of the pranking Fineus. Exhaustion slowly creeping on her from the events of the past several days, she laid her head on his chest while they waited, lulled to sleep by his heartbeat and his deep, even breathing.

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Cliona lazily opened one eye as Carriegan came into the dark bedroom and fell onto the guest bed that had been conjured for her. "Where have you been?"

"Did you know you have a mistletoe tree on the edge of the forest?"

"I don't want to know."

"Night night, Cli."

"Dream sweet, Carr."

"Oh, I certainly will."

"Carr!"

"Sorry."

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"But it's Christmas Eve! Why can't we open one present now?"

Analilian looked over her newspaper at her much younger sister. "Do Mom and Dad allow you to open a present on Christmas Eve?"

"Well, not anymore, but…"

"And do the presents even show up before Christmas Eve at school?"

"Well, no, but…"

"Then what do you think my answer's going to be?"

Sighing, Aurelia stirred her oatmeal and raisins and didn't answer.

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Severus Snape closed his eyes with a long-suffering air as he was swarmed by children, none of them his. His son was smarter than that. And had far more dignity. Hermione embraced her equal swarm with enthusiasm. The number of Weasley grandchildren was truly astounding, he reflected sourly, and a true testimonial in favor of forced sterilization. Catching his wife's warning eye, he gingerly reached out and patted the heads of the children closest to him, most of them with some shade or other of red in their hair.

"Enjoying yourself as usual, I see, professor," came a dry voice, and he turned to see Callum leaning against the stair rail of the Burrow, his arms folded casually over his chest. He wasn't greatly changed from the last time the Potions Master had seen him, though his clothing seemed very slightly different. The Callum he had grown used to associating with, mostly pleasantly over time, had nearly always worn black or khaki slacks and an untucked white button down dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Now, however, he had added a loose tie in navy and silver, and black leather cuffs around his wrist. The tie Severus could accept. The wrist cuffs were another manner entirely.

"Yes, being surrounded by dunderheads every day whilst at school, I take great delight in inundating myself with even more of them during the holidays," he returned, nodding affably in the young man's direction.

"Severus!" Remus wove through the throng of people and held his hand out to his friend. "I didn't think you'd be here till tomorrow!"

"Hermione had other plans."

"P'resser Snape?"

He looked down to see yet another red-headed child tugging lightly on his robes, this one with her mother's wide amber-gold eyes. "Yes, Miss Lupin?"

"May I please hug you, sir?"

Severus glanced quickly to Remus, who regarded his daughter nonplussed, then back at Morrigan, somewhat at a loss for words. "I suppose you may, Miss Lupin, yes."

She wrapped thin arms around her waist and squeezed tightly once, stepping away before it could become either clingy or annoying. "Thank you, sir!" She turned to bound away, stopped by her father's voice.

"Morri, where did you learn that?"

She grinned up at him. "Miz Kush and Miz Carr told me to try it."

"I should have known."

"Kush and Carr?" Severus echoed, the nicknames dripping off his tongue like poison.

"Kushiel de Navarre and Carriegan Chantrea," Remus explained, beginning the long process of herding away all the other children so that his brooding, anti-social friend could have some space. "Two of the students in the school. They're the elite of the House your friend Kraven runs, incidentally."

"Ah." Just what he needed when he was forced by his wife into the post-Christmas visit to the States. More manipulative females. Joy.

"Severus!"

Hearing his name screeched out by Molly Weasley, he surrendered to the inevitable and felt her arms go around him, squeezing all the life and breath from him. He hated Christmas.

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When Clark strode into his office, he was surprised to see Kushiel at her desk, reports stacked carefully on the small surface. She'd been avoiding him most of the two days she'd been back, unless one counted the memorable caroling visit at three thirty in the morning. Besides, who besides him would actually do work on Christmas Eve?

"Hello, sir," she greeted without looking up from the page.

"How did you know it was me?"

"I could hear Lysander gnashing his teeth."

He grinned and looked up reflexively at the vampire head, then did a double take. The red and white fuzzy Santa hat was still perched defiantly on the mounted head, and had now been joined by a wreath of holly where what was left of his neck met the wooden plaque. "My, we really are getting into the season, aren't we, Lysander?"

The vampire's reply was garbled by Renfield shoving a piece of his cheese into his snarling mouth.

"What are you doing here, Kitten?" Clark asked, coming to stand beside her, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder. "It's past eleven."

"I was up far too late to sleep now," she chuckled. "I figured I might as well get some more done, before homework becomes onerous again."

"Don't you have homework over the break?"

"Mmm, I used them as an excuse against my grandmother the first day we were there. Almost all of it's done."

"Ah." He had paperwork of his own to do, but it suddenly seemed very silly to be doing it on a holiday. Making his decision, he took the quill from her hands and stole all of her paperwork, placing it in a pile on top of the cabinet. "No more work. It's almost Christmas."

"And what precisely were you coming in here to do, sir?" she asked knowingly, not reaching to take back her quill.

"That's not the point," he told her, with a great deal of aplomb. He sat down on the rug before the fire that blazed at all times, in case of emergency floos, and held his hand out to her. "Come sit away from the desk. You might get tempted to work again."

"Yes, Circe forbid a diligent student," she twitted. However, she did take his hand, and quirked one eyebrow when he didn't release it after she'd sat down. The amount of Brendans and Kahlua she'd had in the early morning, combined with the exhaustion and emotion of the past several days, had left her with a bit of a buzz, and she couldn't now recall quite how she'd gotten back in her bed in the Colubrae dorms. "You didn't really think Persephone was going to attack the school over the holidays, did you?"

He looked at her sharply, but her expression was merely one of faint amusement, not of accusation. "It seemed reasonable," he hedged, but she shook her head.

"Holidays are beautiful things of themselves. They don't need Her help."

"Why is it that I'm a little frightened at how well you understand Her?"

"Because you, like everyone else, fears that understanding necessarily leads to sympathy," she replied lazily. "You really needn't worry, though. I don't much care for improving the world, or making it a better or more beautiful place. I have enough to worry about just taking care of me."

"I never thought that Colubrae conceitedness would be something I was thankful for," he teased, and she snickered.

"Just as you probably never thought that Enigmite erudition could possibly fail you in any aspect?"

"It didn't fail me!" He puffed up indignantly. "I just didn't have time, so I passed the study on to you."

"And what's gotten you further, my research or my instinct?"

It was a very real question, despite the lightness of the tone, and he suddenly found himself highly uncomfortable. She was only a student, albeit a very talented one, and he'd been placing her squarely in danger by giving her this pursuit, as October's attack proved. "Kitten," he began slowly. "Maybe it's better if you don't continue anymore with the work. We've got a pretty good handle on it now, so one of the professors can continue it."

"And having already named me as a target, She'll suddenly decide that as soon as I'm not digging through old reports, I couldn't possibly be persuaded to be sympathetic to her views anymore, especially once I'm no longer daily exposed to the catastrophic and tragic results of her philanthropy."

He winced. There was really no other option, especially not when it was summed up so neatly. Then again, he had never been particularly good at dealing with Colubraes. To save himself from having to respond, he Flooed the kitchens and ordered two hot chocolates. They came in mugs marked C and K, but he thought he detected an odd scent coming from the redhead's as he handed it to her. "Is that-"

"Coffee flavoring," she answered glibly, which was partially true. She wasn't about to tell him that her Nanan put Brendan's and Kahlua in her coffee every morning.

"Oh. That's a little odd."

"A habit I picked up from my Nanan." Again, perfectly true. Every Colubrae student learned, some with more success than others, that the best way to lie was to tell the truth. In this, Kushiel had more success than most.

"Speaking of your grandmother-"

"Please, call her my Nanan," she pleaded. "Saying my grandmother makes me think of the harridan."

"Your Nanan, then," he corrected graciously, "Would it truly have been such a trial for her to have one more person for the holidays if your parents weren't going to be home?"

"Probably," she snickered. "Rhonwyn and Pierce are already honeymooning there, and Nanan isn't used to sharing Chez des Anges with more than Grandpère and the pool boys."

"The what!"

"Nanan likes to look," she explained innocently, emerald eyes deceptively wide. "She doesn't touch, though, unless it's to give a small pinch."

"Kush!"

She shrugged, a delighted smile dancing about her eyes. "What? She _is_ French."

"That doesn't have anything to do with it!"

"Doesn't it?"

He wisely gave up. He wasn't going to win, he knew this, but still, for some reason, he kept falling for the beginnings of her traps. "What am I going to do with you, Kitten?"

A slight, scratching pressure on top of his head and a squeak gave him the answer to that. He reached up and gently lifted Renfield from atop his head, blushing hotly when he saw the mistletoe in the mouse's hands. Kushiel's muffled snicker didn't help matters any. "Renfield!"

"Oh, shut it, Dowling," Lysander snarled. "You've been wanting to for months, and this way there's no legal repercussions. Everyone knows the effects of mistletoe."

Kushiel quirked an eyebrow at the vampire, who merely maintained his glowering expression, but she could have sworn she saw one of his eyelids dip in the very slightest of winks, which was both alarming and oddly reassuring.

Clark blushed even more deeply, if such a thing were possible.

"Oh, get over yourself and do it, Dowling! That way we can get to my favorite part, the part where she summarily rejects you and threatens to sue for misconduct." If the vampire had still had hands, he would have been rubbing them together gleefully.

Pulling out his wand, Clark sent Renfield gently sailing to land on Lysander's nose, flipping the plaque to the outside hall and locking it in place. They could hear his complaints even through the thick wood of the door. "I'm sorry about that, Kitten."

"Sorry about what?" she asked impishly, enjoying his discomfort. She picked up the dropped sprig of mistletoe and twirled it between her fingers, fully aware of his riveted attention on the small plant. "It's not like I'd sue you."

"You wouldn't?" he asked breathlessly.

She barely resisted the urge to snicker, instead maintaining her pensive mien. "Of course not. Legal fees and trials are such a hassle, when I could simply blackmail you instead." She smirked at his stricken expression. "Or, of course, there's the strong possibility that I wouldn't do anything more than kiss you back."

Too relieved at the negation of threat, it took a moment to for what she'd said to penetrate. "Really?"

This time, she gave in to the urge and laughed. "Lysander is right. You really are just a little boy, aren't you?"

Tentatively, he slid one hand to the back of her neck and pulled her closer, warm breath soft against her face. "Are you certain of that?" Before she could answer, he closed the slight distance between them, his lips moving gently against hers. She closed her eyes and moved into it as much as her awkward position would allow.

The Floo sounded with a whoosh, causing him to jump back from her as if scalded. Séraphine de Navarre regarded him bemusedly from the fireplace. "Having a happy Christmas so far, precious?"

Kushiel smirked at her mother, completely unperturbed to have been caught snogging the Headmaster by her mother. "So far it seems to be pleasant, yes. Yours, seeing as it's five in the morning there?"

While mother and daughter idly chatted, Clark stood and retreated behind his desk, cheeks burning. He had just kissed a student. If there was a hell for teachers, he was pretty sure he'd just earned himself a ticket into it. He'd just kissed a student.

"I will pass along your greetings to your Nanan and your sister, if you'd like, precious," Séraphine offered some time later, discreetly eyeing Clark. "If you have other things to do."

"I'm sure my other things won't take the entirety of Christmas day, Mum," she returned calmly, not rising to the bait. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, precious."

"Mum, is that a hickey?"

"Happy Christmas, precious," the blonde woman repeated more firmly. In the flames, it was impossible to tell if she was blushing, but her daughter thought it quite likely, surprising as such an action was for the woman.

Kushiel rose gracefully, glancing thoughtfully at the Headmaster. He didn't look up, even when the Floo whooshed with its disconnection, and she had a sinking feeling she was going to be getting a lecture in the morning. "I'll just see you later, then, shall I?" she asked quietly.

"Good night, Madamoiselle de Navarre."

She smirked slightly, little more than a bitter twist of the lips, and nodded, heading out of the office.

"Well, Fire-hair?" Lysander demanded immediately upon seeing her.

She looked up at the vampire. "Never mind, Lysander."

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"Oh, shit!"

"Cliona Conn McCullough, you watch your language!"

Cliona rubbed the sleep from her eyes with a groan and peered at her mother, standing with her arms folded at the foot of her bed. Her youngest cousins were surrounding her on the bed, one of them still straddling her stomach, which she had only a moment ago been bouncing on. "It's a highly unpleasant way to wake up, Mam."

"I don't care. They don't need to learn such language. Come along, kids."

The cousins poured off the bed and followed after Bevin like rats following the pied piper.

"That's a lovely way to wake up on Christmas," Carriegan noted with a yawn. She groped about on the nightstand for her customary, and immediate, cup of coffee, before remembering hazily that she wasn't at Avistrum. "Shit."

"Tut, tut, such language," Cúan's voice teased from the door. He handed her a mug of coffee and sat on his younger sister's bed, ruffling Cliona's already messy hair.

"Go to hell," she snarked, sipping at the steaming nectar.

"And a Merry Christmas to you, too," he replied gaily, ignoring their glares.

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"Can we open presents now? Please? Please? Please please please please please?"

"Aurelia, you're worse than some of the five year olds I teach."

"So does that mean yes?"

Analilian turned over and swatted her sister with a pillow, causing the younger girl to squeal shrilly. "It's not even six yet!"

The blonde retaliated by grabbing one of the many pillows her sister kept on her bed and smacked her with it, giggling insanely. She wasn't a morning person, but Merlin, she sure loved Christmas. So many presents! The only downside she could see was that she hadn't met any boys in Phoenix to play under the mistletoe with, but she was fairly sure that lack could be remedied with the New Years trip to Howl, especially since they'd be celebrating Kush's birthday at the same time.

At not quite six in the morning, the two sisters shared a pillow fight in time honored tradition, Analilian getting in the winning blow when one of her swats managed to tumble the precariously balanced Aurelia off the bed. She tossed the pillow back onto the stack with a satisfied smile. "_Now_ we can open presents."

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Severus came to full and immediate wakefulness with a hand on his arm, his fingers already reaching for the wand beneath his pillow.

"Sir, it's Callum" came the quickly whispered assurance.

"What the hell do you want?" he snarled softly, so as not to wake up his still sleeping wife.

"You're about five minutes away from the children invading your room en masse and jumping on you," the apprentice healer retorted. "Would you have preferred I had allowed them to wake you up instead?"

"Thank you," he replied shortly. He slid from the bed and quickly dressed himself in his customary black robes, following the young man out the door. "You didn't wake up Hermione," he noted.

"I hear she likes children," Callum quipped, and Severus grunted in too-early in the morning to truly give full expression amusement. The two men walked into the kitchen to find Fred and George Weasley hard at work 'improving' the crackers. They looked up guiltily, but were forestalled from saying anything by Severus' raised hand.

"Make sure that I do not receive one, and I shall say nothing."

"Thank you, sir!" The twins quickly grabbed all of their supplies, as well as the crackers, and fled to a different workspace.

Callum cocked his head as he put a kettle on for tea. "That was…mild," he observed finally.

"I find their antics highly amusing so long as I am not on the receiving end of them."

Just as Callum was handing his former professor a sturdy mug of dark tea, they heard Hermione's shrill shriek from upstairs. They both smiled, grateful to have escaped the morass of children. "Happy Christmas, sir."

"Happy Christmas, indeed, Mister Sleipak."

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When Kushiel awoke in the morning, it was not to younger cousins, or younger sisters, or even annoying spawn. It was to a kitten nuzzling at her chin. She sat up, the creature tumbling down to her lap and looking up at her with an inquisitive _Mmrrow_? Small and grey, he had one insolent black v dipping down between his eyes to crest at his nose, blue eyes wide and curious. A dark green collar was around his neck, and she squinted at the tag to find Renfield's messy scrawl. Well, he could be forgiven that, she mused distractedly. How many mice, after all, have neat handwriting. The scrap of parchment read simply "To Kitten, From Bast", and she smiled.

"I'll have to think of a name for you later, sirrah," she told the tiny feline, who immediately began purring very loudly at this acknowledgement of his existence.

After opening the rest of her presents, she dressed and draped the baby blue blanket about her shoulders, taking the kitten in one hand and her favorite mythology book in the other. There was no one yet in the Great Hall, so she sat the cat on the Colubrae table and opened up her book, reading aloud possible names to gauge his reaction as she broke her fast on butter soaked cinnamon French toast drizzled with caramel and whipped cream, with a side of cheesy scrambled eggs and crisp, but not burned, bacon. Rather sick of hot cocoa for the moment, a moment that would soon pass, she had orange juice instead, though she found she had to defend the movement of her fork from the playful animal.

It was almost half an hour before anyone came in, and it turned out to be the Headmaster. She was wickedly amused to watch him turn a deep scarlet as soon as he saw her. She had done a great deal of thinking, before falling asleep. She was as prone to silly crushes as anyone her age, but she was also a rather pragmatic girl, and a Colubrae on top of that. She knew how to evaluate a lost cause, and was already beginning to emotionally distance herself from the man. Getting over the crush would take time, but now that she knew it was a necessity, it wouldn't be terribly long, at that. "Happy Christmas, Headmaster," she greeted quietly, perversely pleased by his flinch at her use of his title.

"Merry Christmas, Kushiel."

_So_, she reflected idly. _Back to Kushiel, but not to Kush or Kitten_. "Thank you for the necklace," she added. His gift, wrapped carefully but not very well in dark green paper, had been a polished onyx ankh, the included note telling her it included several protection and communication spells. She'd left it in its case on her nightstand.

"You're welcome," he replied awkwardly. "Thank you, as well, for the sketches."

She nodded, wondering now if they had been a waste of time. She had taken sketches of all the professors and staff, as well of all the office residents, and bound them together for him. One of them, framed in silver and black, showed the two of them sitting at his desk, playing a game of Dots. He had seen her playing them one day with Cliona and asked her to teach him the game. It had meant something when she had done them, but already, she was enough at a distance to lazily debate whether or not he would read too much into them.

"Um, about last night-"

She stopped him by holding up her hand, a gesture she found worked well on almost everyone. "Your reaction last night was more than telling," she informed him firmly, and not a little coldly. "You need say no more. I will take my inappropriate affections and remove them, so you will not need to worry about any possible interference while working on the research project."

"Ah." He stared at her, completely lost for words, as she flipped a page in the book and returned to her breakfast.

"What about Argos?"

"Excuse me?"

"Not you, Headmaster, the cat. I'm trying to come up with a name for Bast's foundling."

If it were possible for a cat to scowl, the grey kitten was certainly doing so. He growled and pawed at the edge of the page, trying to turn it.

"I'm guessing that's a no." She turned to a new page and scanned it thoughtfully, completely ignoring the man still standing dumbstruck beside her. "Dionysus?"

Another growl.

"What about Ganymede?" An inquisitive trill brought a slight smile to her face and she reached out to stroke the soft, silky fur. "He was a young boy over whom Persephone and Hera fought. Zeus grew so tired of their squabbling that he decreed the boy's year would be divided in three. Four months with Persephone, four months with Hera, and, because Zeus was a nasty perv, four months with himself. He was a cupbearer for the gods."

The kitten purred and promptly attacked her hand, gnawing contentedly on a knuckle.

Still at a loss, Clark silently excused himself and made his way to the High Table, where he was joined shortly by Tyler, Kraven, and Sachiko.

"Merry Christmas, Kush!" Tyler called out loudly.

"Merry Christmas, Kushiel," Kraven and Sachiko greeted a moment later.

"Happy Christmas, sirs, ma'am," she returned, smiling fully. It didn't reach up to her eyes, but that didn't so much matter.

"Why don't you join us up here?" Tyler suggested, completely missing Clark's panicked look. "It's a holiday, after all."

She looked down at her empty plate so they wouldn't see her smirk grow wicked, and didn't look up until she had regained control. "Thank you, sir, but no. I'm done anyway and have some calls to make."

Even as she finished speaking, she felt a vibrating in her pocket and pulled out an ornate lighter that continued to twitch in her hand. She flipped up the lid and sparked the flame, Cliona and Carriegan's faces coming into focus in the tiny green fire.

"Merry Christmas, Diamonds!"

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When Kushiel trooped out to the barn later that night to go stargazing from the loft window, she was surprised to see a small tan and grey kitten with dark grey tiger stripes, a small splash of white in its socks and tail tip, rolling about Professor Ward's desk and attacking the man's hand enthusiastically. "Bast gave you a foundling, too?" she laughingly surmised, and he winced as he looked up.

"Yes, a rather playful one who hasn't quite gotten the idea that my hand is not food." He rolled the kitten onto his back, and it was rather like watching a turtle try to flip over, his flexible spine twisting and writhing as he attempted to bring together uncoordinated muscles. "What are you doing out here, Kush?"

"I thought I'd bring the creature stargazing," she answered.

"What creature?"

For answer, Ganymede's head popped out of the neck of her shirt, where he'd been keeping warm.

Tyler's head hit the desk as she laughed. "She got you, too, huh?"

"This is Ganymede."

"I'm thinking of calling this one Maximus Jack." She merely arched an eyebrow and he grinned. "Every male in my family has Jack somewhere in there name, and my grandfather's name was Max. I thought it was appropriate."

"With that history, indeed." She tucked Gany back into her shirt so she could have her hands free. "Do you mind if I lurk in the loft for a bit?"

"Not at all. Do you mind if I join you?"

"Not at all." She quickly climbed the ladder up to hay filled loft, hearing him behind her, and moved to the far end, dangling her legs out of the huge window cut. He sat next to her, smiling at the ever present baby blue blanket.

"Is that thing attached to you during holidays or something?"

Chuckling, she shifted it on her shoulders and let Ganymede crawl out to investigate the loft. "It's warm, and it's softer than most cloaks. And I hate dressing in layers."

They sat in silence for a time, though she noticed he occasionally looked at her questioningly, and she finally sighed. "Did you have a question?"

"Clark seemed most disconcerted around you today," he noted casually.

"I think Lysander's been teasing him." Which, she reflected, was probably true.

"And what would Lysander have to tease him about that concerns you?"

She regarded him thoughtfully, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. She trusted Tyler. He was occasionally absent-minded, but that was excusable given his brilliance and the insane nature of a schedule split between teaching, playing, and writing. More importantly, he was a friend, as much as a professor was allowed to be, and truth be told, possibly a bit more. He rarely had the time, but when he did, he joined them as eagerly as Fineus for their larger scale mischeifs. Watching him wait patiently, clearly not expecting her to tell him anything she didn't want to, she decided to keep with her trust.

"There was a somewhat ill-considered kiss under some mistletoe last night," she replied lightly.

"Who started it?"

"Lysander."

He snorted. "Kush, you know what I meant."

"He did."

"And then?"

"He freaked entirely. Was all set to give me 'the Talk' this morning, too, but I beat him to it."

"Beat him to it?" He sat patiently as she related the events of breakfast, grinning slightly. "He is never going to get used to dealing with Colubraes, is he?"

"Probably not, no."

"When do the girls come back?"

"Tomorrow," she answered happily.

The Arithmancy professor started howling with laughter, falling onto his back in the hay and thoroughly startling the two cats, who had been warily making acquaintance. She stared at him until he gained some small measure of control, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Clark thinks they're not coming back until New Years," he gasped, and that only set him off again.

"Poor Headmaster," she murmured. "He's just having all sorts of bad things happen to him on his break, isn't he?"

"Only a fool would consider kissing you a bad thing."

"Shall we call him Headmaster Fool, then?" she asked wickedly, in a much better mood than she'd been all day.

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"Diamonds!"

"Kush!"

The professors in the vicinity turned with alarm at the loud whump that followed the calls, but relaxed when they saw that it was just the mass of Cliona, Carriegan, and Kushiel hitting the ground from a running glomp. A moment later, Aurelia popped into existence, dropped her luggage, and threw herself on top of them, giggling madly. A couple of moments later, though in a more dignified manner, Guy, Elowen, Elena, and Artanus followed, standing and laughing at their friends.

"What the hell is going on?"

Tyler regarded Clark with some small degree of sympathy. The man was obviously frazzled, had been since Christmas, and the appearance of seven more students in his courtyard must have been unnerving.

In a display of pure evil, Kushiel wormed out from underneath her friends but only rose so high as her knees, settling back onto her ankles, hands folded onto her lap, looking up at the Headmaster through her lashes. Dressed all in white and soft mint green, it was a rather erotic image, and everyone could see the man's cheeks burn red. From the corner of her eye, she caught the Keeper applauding slowly, mockingly, and most importantly, silently. "Headmaster, I told you on the twenty-third that the others would be arriving back early."

"Why?"

"I had thought you might like to have forewarning," she answered, deliberately misunderstanding the question.

He sighed, recognizing the losing battle for what it was, and Bevin McCullough took the moment to step closer. "Headmaster, if I might have a word with you in your office?" she asked quietly.

It surprised him, but he nodded politely. Usually, his dealings with the McCulloughs had been with Conri, not with Bevin. He led the way to his office, leaving the students in the courtyard, and waited until the woman was seated to take his chair. "How can I help you, Mrs. McCullough?"

"I thought there were a few things you and I should go over about a werewolf's natural cycles," she answered placidly, and he froze.

"Why is that?"

"Because Cliona's in heat, and as her Headmaster, you'll need to be aware of what that entails."

Things just kept going from bad to worse, Clark reflected ruefully as he settled in to listen.

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"Callum!"

Hearing Cliona's voice somewhere off to the side, Callum dropped his bag just in time to catch an armload of girlfriend, returning her enthusiastic kisses. "Hey, Bunny," he whispered against her hair when he managed to pull away slightly. "How was your break?"

"Better now that you're here," she answered glibly, tucking her arm through his.

"Callum, who's your friend?" Hermione asked dryly, knowing full well who it was.

"Hermione, this is Cliona McCullough of Clan McCullough. Cliona, this is Hermione Snape, and her husband Severus, and their son Hadrian."

"Pleased to meet you," Cliona greeted politely, holding out her hand. Part of her wondered if this was THE Severus Snape of whom both Callum and Rhonwyn had told horror stories.

They returned the greeting as Tommo wrapped himself about Cli's leg, nuzzling her thigh happily.

"Kush, I thought we were going to do Boxing Day as soon as everyone got here," Carriegan called out, seeing her friend come down the stairs in her normal clothing.

"I didn't want to spend that much time on my hair," she retorted, sending the other girl into paroxysms of laughter. Her eyes widened at seeing the small party at the base of the stairs. "Holy…."

She swallowed quickly, schooling her face into one of respectful courtesy. "Professor Snape, sir, how do you do?"

"Madamoiselle de Navarre," he murmured, inclining his head briefly.

"You two have met?" Callum asked with disappointment. Well, there was one less entertainment for the remainder of break.

"Pureblood society, boyo," she reminded him, nodding to Hermione, as well. "Just because I'm educated here doesn't mean I don't have obligations across the pond."

Severus nearly choked on hearing the Atlantic Ocean referred to being 'the pond'.

Ginny Lupin gently pried Tommo from Cliona's leg and hoisted him onto her hip. "Follow me, you three, and I'll take you to your quarters."

There was complete silence in the entrance hall as the students watched them leave, but as soon as they were out of earshot, Kush turned to her friends, her emerald eyes dancing excitedly. "We're pranking him," she announced.

"Absolutely not!" Callum protested. "That man will kill you!"

"Only if we get caught," she assured him.

"You will. That man is a terror."

"Callum, I've grown up with my grandmother. I assure you, I'm not scared."

"I'm in," Carriegan decreed lazily, violet eyes glowing at the chance to do some mischief to a legend.

"Is he really that bad?" Cliona asked, a slight furrow in her brow as she looked between her friends and boyfriend.

"No, he's worse," Callum grumbled.

"No worse than Professor Bloodthorne," the redhead retorted.

"Oh, I'm definitely in, then," Carriegan snickered.

"That's not too bad," Cliona decided. "I'm in."

"Come on, we'll need some help with it."

"I'm not touching it, I'm not having anything to do with it," Callum told them firmly. "I've known the man for ten years, and I'm not at all inclined to die today."

"Who says it's going to be today?"

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Was there some rule against Headmaster's having neat, legible handwriting? Severus sighed as he read the note taped to his door, requesting him to please join him in the Restricted Section of the library for a Potions question. Presumably something to do with their Persephone, he decided. He really didn't want to get involved. Hadn't he done enough with Voldemort? But, be that as it may, he was a guest in the school for a week, and it was only polite to answer the man's questions.

His black robes swirling and billowing around him, he stalked his way through the school to the library. After three days, he had become quite used to the layout, as only a master spy could. He nodded politely to the librarian as he passed, stepping through the door into the Restricted Section and closing it behind him.

It was when the knob burned his hand with a charm upon being closed that he had the idea he'd been had. It was when he turned around and saw that there were no books on the shelves that he started to grow angry.

And it wasn't until he saw a small army of rather large Attack Dust Bunnies, Dust Dragons, and Dust Rats stalking slowly towards him that he actually became worried.

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"Severus, where have you been?" Hermione asked with a small frown as her dust covered husband stormed into the Great Hall for dinner that night, followed by an apologetic Mordecai. "We've been looking for you for hours."

Not trusting himself to speak, the Potions Master jerked his head back towards the librarian and sank into a seat by his old friend Kraven, who wordlessly Scourgified his robes.

"Mordecai?" The Headmaster inquired. "What's going on?"

"It seems someone found it amusing to trap Professor Snape in the Restricted Section with the ADBs," Mister Argiletum answered, not meeting anyone's eyes lest the secret amusement be revealed. I had taken all the books out to clean them, and Mistress Craefter and I were to be going through tomorrow and doing a thorough depesting."

"Who on earth-" His dark eyes narrowed as his gaze fell upon the knot of students at the Lobostro table, laughing as Elowen attempted to deep throat a banana under the helpful advice of the other girls. "Surely they wouldn't…"

"Severus, why did you go into the Restricted Section in the first place?" He silently passed the note to the head of Colubrae, who scanned it once and smirked. "You'll want to see this, Headmaster."

Clark took the proffered note and read it. "This is Renfield's handwriting."

"Who is Renfield?" Hermione asked, twirling one chestnut lock around her index finger.

"Lysander's mouse servant," he answered absently. "Why would Lysander do such a thing?"

"We're stuck, Clark," Kraven informed him dryly. "Renfield is too loyal to rat out who told him to do this, Lysander will crow over it whether he had anything to do with it or not, and if the girls did it, they certainly aren't going to tell."

"Elowen or Aurelia might," Sachiko offered.

"If they were in on it."

"They just did a prank that we can't begin to prove without the use of Veritaserum, didn't they?" Clark speculated wearily.

"I don't know that Veritaserum would help you too much," Kraven offered. "Have you ever listened to one of their games of truth or truth? The best way to lie is with the truth, and that steps perfectly around the serum."

"I think I hate females," Clark announced darkly, throwing the note down on the table. "They're far too devious,"

Tyler laughed into his hand at the glares directed at the hapless headmaster from the four females at the High Table. "You're Chasing oh for three now, Clark," he advised. "You might want to stop now while you actually have a slight chance of making it up."

Seated between Remus and Ginny, still adamant in his declaration not to have anything to do with the prank, Callum couldn't resist taking out a piece of paper and writing a short note to Cliona. The origami wolf ran across the air to the lycan girl and rolled onto its back, falling apart when she scratched its stomach. The note read simply:

_Well done_.


	16. Ball Dropping and Eye Popping

**Disclaimer: Would you believe it's STILL not mine? Not Harry Potter, not Avistrum…only the story and a couple of the characters. Hell, not even all of the original characters are mine. So no sueing, yeh?**

_A/N: Reviews feed the muse! Come on, people!_

**Chapter Sixteen: Ball Dropping and Eye Popping**

"Same rules apply as every other trip."

"Yes, sir."

"Just because it's New Years Eve, I don't want you doing anything stupid."

"Yes, sir."

"You need to be back by two."

"Yes, sir."

"No doing magic where the muggles can see you."

"Yes, sir."

"No-"

"Sir!" Kushiel glared at the Headmaster. "With all due respect, we're fully aware of the rules, and we've agreed to abide by them. May I go now, please? We've a lot to do if we're to get all of us ready in time."

Clark sighed. "Yes, go." The past few days had been pure hell, with Kushiel ignoring him or treating him with exacting, unfailing civility when she was forced to interact with him. By now he was fully aware that he had gone about the whole thing in the worst way possible, but he really wasn't sure how to apologize to her. Then, too, the painter had attacked a small wizarding town not terribly far from the school, leaving three dead and dozens more injured.

"Clark, they'll be fine. It's not like this isn't something they do fairly often."

He snorted, but said nothing more to Kraven's reassurance.

Severus, spending the afternoon with his old friend while Ginny and Hermione caught up on witchly things, arched one expressive eyebrow. "And what is it, precisely, that they're doing?" he asked, his silky voice disapproving.

"They go to a muggle club from time to time to dance," Sachiko explained softly. "It's just a safe way for them to let loose. They're going out tonight to celebrate the New Year."

Kraven blinked as a sudden thought occurred to him. "Did we set them a dress code after the last time?"

There was an audible thwack as the Headmaster's hand came in contact with his own face.

The Divinations professor sighed. "I'm guessing that's a no, then."

"Damn it."

"Ginny was right," Severus noted in a low drawl. "Things certainly are interesting here in the States."

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"Well!" Clark demanded, running a hand through his hair.

Kraven merely shook his head. "They're not in their dormitory."

"It's three in the goddamn morning, where are they?"

"Clark! They're here!"

They raced towards Sachiko's voice and found her in the entrance hall, the students newly arrived. Clark stopped short disbelievingly, followed a moment later by his companions. "What the hell…"

Not only were the students an hour past their curfew, but somehow, they all seemed to be soaking wet. They were not wearing clothing meant for being soaking wet. And…were they drunk? Kraven and Severus narrowed their eyes with identical expressions of disdain.

Cliona, in a white tube top, a black and white striped tie, a black pleated skirt that barely covered what it needed to cover, black and white striped thigh his, and black knee high heeled boots, was literally straddling Callum, the boy supporting all her weight. They were also snogging like mad, and at least her hands were very busy. Then again, his probably were, too, only confined to her ass, being obliged to hold her up. Their faces were concealed by her shaggy brown curls falling forward around them. The British apprentice healer had on a skin-tight white wife-beater with black leather pants that looked like they had been painted on, with straps and chains draping across them. Was that eyeliner? Yes, eyeliner, streaking down his face in runnels of sweat and melting ice, black cuffs at his collar and wrists.

Their eyes traveled next to Elowen and Guy. It was as hard not to see them as a single image as with the previous pair, but not for the same reason. The southern belle, clad in a white mesh shirt over a white bra and black hot pants with strappy black heels was thrown over the tall Scotsman's shoulder, snoring uproariously. Guy was barely able to stand as he was, swaying dangerously and blinking rapidly. He belched suddenly, causing Elowen to bounce against his chest. Black jeans hugged his lanky form, leading up to a white dress shirt open over a white wife beater, a black bow tie hanging loosely about his neck.

Aurelia was barely better off than Elowen, falling back constantly into Aidan's arms. Her draping white top would have been nearly sheer under the best of circumstances. These, however, were not the best of circumstances. Silver and crystal chains held the top to her, with a black miniskirt and black high heels. Or rather, black high heel. One of the shoes seemed to be missing. Only one of her pigtails had managed to survive the night, and she had six different hickeys that they could see on her neck. It shouldn't have been possible to giggle for that long without drawing breath, but if she stopped, it certainly wasn't noticeable. Aidan, perhaps the most conservative of the bunch in a skin tight white t-shirt and baggy black leather pants, glowered darkly, keeping an arm about the blonde's waist to keep her standing.

Carriegan was next in their line of sight, and was perhaps the most covered of all the girls, though it still didn't leave anything to the imagination. A formerly crisp white shirt hugged most of her torso, leaving her stomach bare, and a black and white pinstriped vest came under the best, emphasizing it even more clearly. A black tie dangled tauntingly just above her navel, silky black pants hugging her curves down to the floor. A black fedora covered most of her face, her deep plum hair tumbling down over her shoulders. His arms wrapped around her and nuzzling her neck, Cúan wore a white mesh top with nothing beneath it, showing off his finely toned muscles, and low slung tight black jeans.

From there, they moved on to Elena and Artanus, both of whom they were a little surprised to see in the group. Elena slumped against the quiet Artanus, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open as she dozed, snoring ever so softly. A shimmery white top draped across her front, leaving most of her back bare, with a multi-layered semi sheer black skirt slithering in an elegant, asymmetrical line down her legs. What was left of her makeup was soft whites and glitters, but most of it was now streaked. Artanus hiccupped occasionally, but seemed to be more or less steady, in black jeans and a white dress shirt, black tie loose around his neck.

That left only Kushiel, who regarded them with wide eyes. Her deep red hair was bundled atop her head in a mass of curls, some few artfully framing her face, the entire thing threatening to tumble down at any moment. Clinging white fabric hugged her front, draping teasingly across her neckline, with broad, loose sleeves of white fishnet and what seemed to be, at least from the front, an entirely bare back. A black bow tie came close around her neck, while her silver Legacy Locket drew the eye downwards. A tiny black pleated skirt covered about as much as Cliona's, her legs bare to the knee where her sleek black heeled leather boots hugged and defined every muscle of her leg.

The clothing wasn't even truly that outrageous compared to some of the things they'd worn in the past, though it certainly wouldn't have passed muster if they'd had to approve it beforehand. No, what was truly incredible about it was they were all soaking wet, and white shirts don't tend to get along fabulously with water. Even momentarily ignoring the fact that every single shirt was entirely sheer, there was also the rather alarming fact that it was January in Virginia, and they were all drenched to the bone.

There was also the fact that most of them seemed to be just short, or even past, the stage of being falling down drunk.

"Someone explain just what the hell is going on here."

Carriegan blinked up at the Headmaster, shifting her fedora from her face before it fell back again. "You really shouldn't use language like that, sir," she told him earnestly, her words slightly slurred. "It sets a bad example. We are students, you know."

Aurelia giggled and promptly passed out against Aidan, who Ennervated her with a wave of his wand.

"Explain," Clark grated out again.

Kushiel opened her mouth to speak, but Carriegan's voice came out instead. "Hippity hop, hippity hop, hippity hippity hop," she chortled, pointing at Cliona and Callum and laughing helplessly.

Remus and Ginny exchanged glances, moving as one to physically separate Callum and Cliona. They were both werewolves, and had spent years accustomed to the natural cycles of heat and mating, but the professors were all humans. Perhaps it was just better to not aggravate them further at the moment. Callum struggled against Remus, nearly drugged by the pheremones.

Just as the redhead tried again, she was interrupted by another huge belch from Guy, who tottered and toppled down. He grinned up at them goofily from the floor, Elowen still slung over his left shoulder and snoring.

"Do you have ANY idea how-"

A small thump was heard as Aurelia giggled and passed out again, only this time, Aidan's slowed reflexes didn't catch her before she hit the floor. He enervated her again, but left her lying there.

"You know, sir, you should really cut your hair," Carriegan advised. "It looks a little silly that long."

Clark closed his eyes, feeling for a moment like Lysander as he clenched his jaw against the vitriol wanting desperately to pour out.

"Clark," Robin interjected softly, laying one hand on his arm. "We should get them to the infirmary to get warm and dry."

"And sober," Mordecai quipped, unable to help himself.

"We'll help," Ginny added, giving the librarian a look. She and Remus started herding off their charges, while Hermione, Robin, Mordecai, Fineus, and Sachiko started pulling away the rest. Aidan tossed Aurelia over his shoulder and stalked after them, his scowl still firmly in place. When Kushiel made to follow after her friends, she was stopped by the Headmaster, leaving her with Clark, Kraven, Tyler, and Severus. She eyed them warily, her hands nervously smoothing the short pleats of her skirt.

"Do you have any idea how irresponsible this little stunt was?" Clark hissed furiously. "Not to mention illegal! You guys are eighteen years old! You're not even allowed to be drinking yet! There are hundreds of dangers involved in getting as smashed as everyone obviously is right now. And at a muggle club! Who knows what you could have done! You are an hour late! We have all been up looking for you, worried sick, and you lot prance in without a care in the world. Haven't you even a care for your health? It's January! In Virginia! There is a foot and a half of snow on the ground, and you come in soaked to the bone! You could catch your death of cold! Heaven forbid any of you had tried to apparate, you'd have made quite the impression of muggles with half of you left behind, I'm sure. Not that you need to worry about making an impression when nearly every single one of you might as well write whore across your forehead with the way you're dressing, and judging from Aurelia's appearance, the way you're acting. Haven't you any decency or morals!

She coughed slightly, starting to shiver, and he grabbed her roughly by the arms, shaking her. "Are you drunk!"

"Noooo," she answered sourly, not fighting against his painful grip. "I will admit to being ever so slightly tipsy, but I currently have less of a buzz than I did on Christmas Eve."

He let go off her like a white hot poker.

"What the hell were you guys doing to come in so soaked?"

"Aurelia and Elowen wanted to play in the snow," she replied succinctly, her hands planted on her hips. Her right foot tapped impatiently against the stone floor.

"Wanted to play…what the hell is wrong with you!" Clark shouted, surprising everyone else still in the hall. "Did you even think about the possible consequences? We still don't know where Haddi and the painter are; what if one of them had gotten wind of your little field trip? Do you honestly think you could have stood up to them in such a state? Or even escaped quickly enough? Hell, you probably couldn't have safely walked out of his grasp if he'd let you! You made yourself a deliberate target, knowing that he is after you! How could you be so irresponsible!"

Still shivering, Kushiel nonetheless drew herself straight, her face growing blanker and more distant by the minute, but she made no move to interrupt his rampage.

"How often does She have to hurt you before you'll learn to be careful! You are students under my care! The school could have been closed if trouble had come about from that little stunt! You could have all been injured! Or killed! And they would have gotten away scot free, because we probably wouldn't have had any idea where to find you!"

"Clark, enough," Tyler commanded softly. "She is only one of the group, and you cannot take all your frustrations out on her. Look at her. She is soaking wet and freezing. Let her go with the others to the infirmary, and we can deal with this later on today."

Sighing, Clark followed his friend's advice and actually looked at the pale redhead. Her skin rippled with goosebumps, as well as with the violent tremors of her shivering, yet she didn't relax her stance any, nor back down. Forgetting himself for a moment, he reached out to touch her clammy cheek and she flinched, a section of her hair falling like blood down her left shoulder onto her chest. "Go," he ordered softly. "Before I change my mind."

She gave him no reply, starting to walk past him, and Tyler pulled off his warm cloak and draped it over her shoulders. She hissed slightly when the fabric fell against her back, but still made no comment.

"Madamoiselle de Navarre."

She stopped and looked over her shoulder at Severus Snape, her green eyes narrowed. "Yes, sir?"

"Happy Birthday."

Tears glimmered suddenly, one falling to trickle slowly down her cheek. "Thank you, sir," she whispered, allowing herself to be led away by the head of Enigmus.

The blood drained from Clark's face as he stared at the British Potions Master. "…birthday?"

"Indeed."

Kraven closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "I had forgotten," he admitted. "She doesn't usually stay for the holidays."

"How do you know her birthday?" Clark demanded, feeling suddenly, horrendously guilty.

"Her twin sister was my student for seven years," he answered dismissively. "I may not acknowledge their birthdays, but that doesn't mean I don't keep them in mind."

The head of Colubrae opened his eyes and regarded his old rival gravely. "You cannot blame Kush for our inability to find Persephone and the painter. She has gotten us closer to understanding Her than we could have dreamed."

"I know," he agreed reluctantly. "It's just…how could they have been so stupid?"

"They're young." He looked to the Potions Master. "What on earth is going through your head, Severus?"

The barest of smirks tugged at the man's thin lips. "I'm just realizing that I may be able to tell my colleagues back home that I have found someone harsher to their students than even I. I may call them silly, incompetent dunderheads, but I have yet to call one of them a whore."

Clark winced.

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Noon on New Years Day found a certain redheaded Irish girl seated at the far end of the Colubrae table, twitching a string for her purring kitten with her left hand and drinking a large mug of hot chocolate with her right. A blank page of one of her sketchbooks lay before her, but her eyes remained unfocused, almost as if she would see through it. The ever present baby blue microsuede blanket draped over her arms but hung low across her hips, leaving her back bare, as did her high necked shirt.

Thus, it was the sight of an obviously new, and rather large, tattoo that greeted the Headmaster when he went looking for her. He had not slept after sending her to the infirmary, and had come to the conclusion late in the morning that he would have to swallow his pride and apologize. Regardless of the fact that they had broken multiple laws and rules, he had overreacted, and nothing should have been enough to make him take it all out on the one who happened to be mostly sober. He came up behind her and traced a finger lightly alongside one of the healing wounds, feeling her stiffen, but not move away.

"What's with this?" he asked quietly.

"It's a family tradition," she answered lowly. "All of the de Navarre women have one in some form or another."

"Really?" His finger traced the paths just over the surface of the skin, not actually touching the lines which had not even begun to heal yet. An elegant dagger with curved crossguards traveled down her spine, a deep burgundy rose blooming at the joint. Vines crept out from the rose to wrap behind the blade before weaving into a thorned Celtic knot in shades of blue, purple, and green that were barely shy of black. Down the length of the blade itself was inscribed _On n'est jamais seule_, and the light, heady scent of vanilla and roses wafted gently against him as he stood so closely to her. "Why?"

"It's not like it's visible all the time," she shrugged. "We go to a wizard artist, and he enchants the ink with our personal scents. Then he chants the most ancient family protection spells as he works the design. My mother designed mine, as Nanan designed hers. It's the gift of the mother to the daughter, and also a sign of how well the mother knows the daughter. Once it's healed, it only shows when we want it to."

"Didn't that hurt?"

"Not in any way that was uncomfortable."

He wisely left that one alone. "Is this why you weren't as drunk as the rest?"

"Alcohol and tattoos don't mix. I waited until it had stopped bleeding completely before I drank anything. Besides, Cli and Cal didn't drink anything other than water the entire night."

"But they were-"

She looked at him for the first time, and he felt physically slapped by the cold dislike in her gaze. "They're in heat. That's nature, not alcohol. Didn't Mrs. McCullough explain all this to you when she brought them back?"

"Well, yes, but I didn't realize-"

"Obviously."

She wasn't making it any easier, and he sighed, sinking down onto the bench beside her, much to her surprise. "I wanted to say I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I was understandably pissed, but I overreacted."

"Yes, you did, though the anger was, as you say, understandable." She said nothing more than that, and he felt the strange compulsion to continue.

"You truly did have us worried. You've never had a problem coming in on time before, and to suddenly be so late, on such an obvious holiday….Not to mention your state of sobriety, dryness, and apparel."

"Yes, I can understand how seeing your students dressed up as whores would be disconcerting," she agreed mildly, but the arrow struck true and he winced.

"I said I was sorry," he muttered.

"You're right, you did." She sipped idly from her mug of steaming cocoa, twitching the ribbon over Clark's how. Ganymede pounced on it, claws extended, and proceeded to gnaw at the available ankle. "Gany," she reproached mildy, but she moved neither ribbon nor kitten.

Clark gave up. "You do realize, of course, that you're not going to get out of this without punishment?"

"You do realize, of course, that I would be an absolute traitor to my House if I had brought that up?"

He blinked rapidly, taking a deep breath to temper out the growl rising in his throat.

"So, what is it?"

"First, no more trips. Not to your club, not to town, nothing. You do not leave the school."

"Judging by the word first, I'm guessing there's more."

"No drinking, whatsoever. Absolutely no alcohol, no booze, no getting trashed." It was probably for the best for his peace of mind that he missed the amused look she gave her hot chocolate. "Thirdly, I expect an essay from each and every student on that trip, to be turned in to his or her Head of House by noon tomorrow, apologizing for and explaining their appalling lack of decision making."

"With all due respect, sir, there was nothing wrong with our ability to make decisions. The decisions made simply weren't in keeping with what you would have wished."

"Madamoiselle de Navarre, I am letting you all off rather lightly, I would appreciate if you did not tempt me to deal with you as strongly as I should!"

"No, indeed, I should hate to see you treat us as whores again."

He got up from the bench and stormed towards the High Table, leaving a very confused, and rather dejected, Ganymede in his wake. The kitten looked up at his person. _Mrrow?_

"It's all right, Gany," she soothed, leaning down to stroke him gently between his ears. "The mean, nasty Headmaster has gone away." She took another sip from her doctored drink, a slow smirk spreading across her face. "I suppose I should tell the others about our assignment," she noted wickedly.

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"We have to what!" Aurelia whined, shifting the ice pack against her neck to cover the other side, where the hickeys were very badly bruising. She'd been forbidden to do anything to them, not even to cover them up with glamours so as to teach her a lesson, but they hadn't thought to prevent muggle methods, and so she kept the ice pressed against the love bites, hoping they would go away faster.

"They don't have to be very long," Kushiel assured them. "We simply have to give them something that seems more or less contrite."

"Contrite?" Carriegan echoed archly, stretching languidly. "Just who do they think they're dealing with?"

"Will y'all please shut up?" came a pathetic voice from underneath a pillow. Poor Elowen had not fared nearly so well in her recovery as the others. She had proven to be one of the very unfortunate few that was allergic to the normal variations of Sober Up potion, and had the hangover from hell to prove it.

Smiling, the others let their voices fall softer. Cliona smiled slowly, leaning back against the rather chastened and silent Callum, who, as he was not a student, did not have to write the essay. That did not keep him from being on the receiving end of a rather strong lecture from Nurse Kayenta, followed only hours later by another from Ginny. "I think we can all manage to write them a little something," she murmured, and her wicked smile flowed across the room.

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Polonius Aberfoyle was rather confused when he came back to the school just before noon to find Guy and Aurelia outside his office. Both handed him essays and shot off before anything further could be said. Bemusedly, he tucked the papers into a pocket in his robes and set about settling back into his office.

It was tradition, every year, for the faculty to have their own private dinner the night before the students returned. It was a way to unwind, to relax, to enjoy the sole company of other adults before being surrounded by children again. Once everyone had settled themselves around the large and seldom used table in the staff room, Polonius brought up the strange gift.

To his surprise, those who had remained at school over the break either groaned, chuckled, or swore. "What on earth?"

"It's their punishment," Sachiko explained with soft amusement. "They came back an hour late, soaking wet, and absolutely toasted. So Clark set them essays."

"That's it?"

"Well, along with no trips and no alcohol, but since it didn't happen while school was in session, he can't take points." The Deputy Headmistress pulled out several sheets and handed them to the new History of Magic professor. "Here, Adante. Greywolf can't be here, so you're acting Head of Lobostro."

Sarah Kensington had been offered a chance to live with a mer-colony. At Mistress Craefter's suggestion, an old friend had been brought back to teach, thus Adante Avarra found himself a professor. The satyr had lived through more than a century of American magical history, and was eminently suited, but he was rather surprised to find himself acting head.

Greywolf, Head of Lobostro and professor of Potions, had been called to the Hexagon as a matter of consultation, but his apprentice, Teaching Assistant Grasella Moffat, was proving more than capable of stepping up to the plate. There had even been rumors going around that Greywolf would be retiring, and that she would be taking his place on a more permanent basis.

Tyler pulled out Cliona's and Artanus' essays, setting them down on the table next to his plate. It had been very tempting to read them in advance, but he had resisted, and was greatly looking forward to it. Cliona was one of the prides of his House, but it had been a damn near thing between Enigmus and Colubrae for her.

Kraven sourly dropped a rather thick stack onto the table.

"Good lord, Kraven, how many of your students went on this gala?" Adante asked with surprise.

"Two," came the rather grim answer.

"So, who wants to go first?" Mordecai asked lightly.

Tyler shifted through his pages, picking up Artanus Silverstaff's. "Let's start with the ones that are likely to have followed the spirit of the exercise, shall we?" he asked in his rich baritone. "Then we can move on to the ones that will make us start swearing."

He took a sip of water and began. "A Detention Essay: Artanus Silverstaff, Enigmus House.

"I apologize for the poor quality of my decision making in the events of New Years Eve. I understand and will abide by the punishment restrictions, and do not seek to repeat the event."

Remus blinked. "That's it?"

"That's Artanus."

Selecting Guy's paper, Polonius followed Tyler's example and read it aloud. "Drink and Dark Times, an Essay by Guy Grandison, Exiled.

"Alcohol, the bane of man kind now for generations beyond count, both Muggle and Wizard. Perhaps we shall never know when the first time humanity fermented their Drinks to become Alcoholic, but ever since then we have all of use been partial to it. Teenagers, however, are known for their rebellious streaks, never listening, always disagreeing and doing whatever is in their power to bend every rule and law that existed.

"We here are no exception, you ban something and Teenagers shall try everything in their power to find away around it, a curfew in place? Every time there will be someone who breaks it, and in this case we were no exception. We were having a good time and we did not want to ruin it by something as insignificant as we…I thought as the Curfew, it seemed likely that the Dread Lady would attack us there and then? We are Teenagers, and everyone is a Teenager at some point in their life, we should be allowed our fun, while the last shreds of childhood surround us. For after this year we graduate and our true life begins. For me who knows what the future shall bring, I am exiled forbidden to return home, the last of my father's line with only a ruined pendant, a Ring and an Ancient Blade the only items that I have that tell me of my heritage and my responsibility. Am I the Laird and Lord? Or am I the Heir to the Seat of power?

"My future is as bleak as it appears that the United States, the Dread lady is growing in strength, her followers more open and she is becoming more dangerous than ever. Just scant weeks ago she launched her first attack on this school and injured scores of students. Who can say where and when she will strike next, all I know is that at all times we should be wary at all times, and our lack of judgement could have led to us being in great danger due to our, perhaps even my negligence. The Dread Lady shall strike again, and we must be ready.

"Fortius quo fidelius, loyalty that is how we shall get through this, I however may not be part of this tale for much longer. Who knows what this year will bring me? The lifting of the oath? Or me vanishing into the wilderness to take up my fathers oath? For both Questions, when the Dread lady shall strike, and what shall happen to me is Time. Time will tell. The Time we Failed to Return.

"Guy William McLaren Grandison, Heir to Duchray, Exile, Vengeance Seeker."

Remus blinked owlishly. "Was he still drunk when he wrote that?"

Chuckling dryly, Adante looked down at Elena's paper on top. "He certainly has a flair for it, doesn't he? Moving on…New Years Essay, by Elena Waltz, Lobostro House. As instructed I am writing this essay to apologize for my behavior the night of Kushiel's birthday. However exhilarating it may have been, it was wrong to sneak into a muggle club using fake ids. I am not yet old enough to drink and have no business being in an establishment that serves alcohol until I am legally allowed. smirks softly as she writes This trespass was made all the worse by the fact that I imbibed such a large amount of liquor. There is no excuse to be drunk, particularly when I am surrounded by adult muggles. My actions could have put my friends, my school, and myself in jeopardy. There are no wards to protect me when I am away from the school. I could have been assaulted by a muggle, spilled the secret of Avistrum, attracted the attention of Persephone, etc.

"It was also inappropriate glances at Artanus and smiles to shamelessly make out with a boy in public. Such behavior is ill befitting of a student, particularly a seventh year that many of the younger children look up to. It is important to set a good example for those little ones by behaving in a chokes slightly moral manner. To do otherwise reflects poorly on Avistrum and me.

"Finally I should have had the good sense to arrive on time. I know that I am lucky the professors allow my friends and I to go out at all. The least I can do is be back by curfew. The fact that I felt it was more important to have a snowball fight demonstrates a serious lack of judgment. I understand that I will not be allowed out of the school again for a very long time."

Grasella Moffat's eyebrows rose. "Fake ids? They are good, aren't they?"

Clark sighed, sifting his fingers through a small bowl of goldfish. "Why did I ever say yes to becoming Headmaster?"

"Because you're a sucker for punishment?" Robin suggested with a gentle smile.

"Kraven? If you wish to keep to the pattern?" Mordecai suggested.

The dour Divinations professor looked at the two names, then at Clark, then back at the two names, smirking slightly before picking up Carriegan's. Let's Kush's be the last. He'd made peace, more or less, with his old rival. That didn't mean he didn't enjoy causing him pain when the opportunity presented itself. "Alcohol and it's pseudomedical effects on ancient times, and the socioeconomic struggles of modern day life under a fascist terrorist: An Essay by Carriegan Ellette Chantrea, Colubrae House.

"Through history there has been the use of alcohol with minors ranging from a dab of whiskey to help a cutting tooth, all the way up to a right of passage into adulthood. The truth of the matter is that there is absolutely no reason a witch or a wizard should not be allowed to imbibe when they so desire.

"Our bodies are designed to process alcohol properly resulting in higher levels of serotonin and other mood lifting endorphins. Let's not forget the medicinal properties beyond the endorphin boost it gives. The caloric intake helps for those who are suffering any malnutrition (and remember, we are girls which just by this very fact we should be allowed to drink.) Muggles have used this technique even. Cancer patients are given Beer as entire meals because it has more nutritional value than other things. Beer was even used back in the ancient days of Egypt on the Slaves. So was a combination of Milk and a grain alcohol. As it would give them nutrition, and keep their endorphin levels up, lessening the chances of revolutions.

"There is also the Taboo factor. If by banning an act, or substance it will insure that the ones you are trying to keep it from will rebel and crave that taboo. As we have learned in History of Magic, during our, 4th year, studying the different school cultures there was the discussion of Hogwarts, and the Ministry of Magic's Educational Decree #23 appointing one Dolores Umbridge High Inquisitor, who later made the Educational Decree #27 which makes possession of the Tabloid Paper The Quibbler an expulsion offense, which as we all remember, insured that by the very same afternoon that decree was put into effect that every single student had read a copy of it.

"You tell someone no, and they will do the opposite of that. So by punishing us, and making alcohol forbidden, you are insuring that more students will find sneakier ways of getting out and will have more disastrous encounters with your now banned subject.

"In this time where She Persephone has now attacked students (including myself, lest we forget) I believe that our minimal infraction should be not over looked, but embraced as right now it's the simple things in life that make life worth living, and if that means having a good time with friends, so be it. Thanks to Persephone, there is a bigger problem, then a few girls staying out and drinking. People can become so depressed, afraid, etc that they stop living for fear of Her. Riots, doomsday, shady business dealing that will just rip a person off. Dark arts dabbling, simply for protection. Out right paranoia en masse. People are afraid to live. So why punish those of us who are still trying to smile and make life worth living? If Persephone were to kill me tomorrow, you can be sure I would spend my last night dancing, drinking, and laughing with my friends.

"So with this I end my essay, and I hope I have made my reasoning clear. As a great man once said, "Eat, Drink, and be Merry… For tomorrow we die." And I believe that statement is very prevalent in today's terrifying times."

"How very Colubrae," Polonius observed dryly. "Given a punishment, she is then accepting of no fault, and makes it very clear that she is writing it purely to humor us."

"I teach my House well," Kraven murmured. Although he deplored them being caught, he was rather proud of the essay, and had no reason to doubt that the other would be equally pleasing. "Tyler? I believe it is time for Miss McCullough's?"

Professor Ward cleared his throat and took a sip of water before taking the pages in hand. "Teenagers, Lycanthropes, and the Reproductive Cycle: Cliona Conn McCullough, Enigmus House ."

"As anyone who dabbles in Care of Magical Beasts knows, the werewolf, like its non-magical counterpart, is subject to a rigid reproductive cycle. The reproductive cycle of the werewolf includes courtship, bonding, and copulation, and the mating season begins in late fall to early winter, January being a common month for copulation. Like non-magical wolves, werewolves are monogamous and mate for life. 

"Unlike a normal human being, the werewolf is subject to a strong instinct to court, bond, and mate early in life, normal teenage hormones aside. It is a well known fact that werewolves who are born into lycanthropy, rather than those who are bitten, commonly choose their mates in their mid-teens, if mates are available. When possible, werewolves will often mate with other werewolves, but human attraction and compatibility must also be taken into account.

"As an eighteen-year-old female lycanthrope who has been surrounded by other lycans, both male and female, my entire life I find it amazing that my virginity still remains firmly in tact. The human side of me has been very selective over the past six years in regards to which males I associate with, and the wolf has slowly been getting exceedingly impatient with me. Just as the future is starting to look extremely bleak to my lupine half, along comes a young man who ensnares the senses of both halves of my brain so completely as to render me speechless, stilted, and utterly senseless. Normally this would be lauded, seeing as I'm a spinster in wolf terms; however, being under extreme scrutiny and surveillance from both my family and the faculty of Avistrum, this joyous occasion has turned into a series of infractions ranging from minor to major."

The laughter which had been threatening through most of the essay now choked his voice off completely, and he helplessly handed the essay off to Sachiko to be finished.

"Going to clubs, making out, and groping are all considered normal behavior for teenagers. Even playing in the snow is normal on a bright winter's day. I would go as far to say that sexual activity of any and all sorts is normal behavior for teenagers behind closed doors or in hidden places. As teenagers, we are wont to explore and experiment with our blossoming bodies, and more often than not that includes exploring and experimenting with a member of the opposite sex. There is much more sexual activity going on behind closed doors in Avistrum of which the faculty and staff are not even dimly aware.

"We were given faculty consent to go out, and, much to certain professors' chagrin, we were allowed to go out in our attire of choice. I will also note that it was very well known who was attending our little gathering; just as well as it was known that we would be going out dancing at a club, and I request that you remember that both Callum and I are subject to the instincts of the wolf, as my mother had mentioned previously. I would now like to state that neither Callum nor I did anything illegal on our outing, no matter how distasteful our behavior may have been. Both of us gained access to the club using our legally obtained IDs, and neither of us partook of any alcoholic beverages that evening. As we are both eighteen years of age, we are both considered legal and consenting adults in the United States of America.

"I acknowledge that my behavior for the evening was inappropriate and misguided, but I cannot disregard my instincts in this matter. I have held them at bay, and I have behaved for six years; now that I have found a, for lack of a better word, "mate" it has become impossible for the wolf to remain at bay. Chalk it up to a phase if you will, but I will remind you that it is indeed a cycle, one that will be repeated every year.

"Teenagers deal with hormones, and teenage lycans deal with twice the amount of hormones. Teenagers are expected to make mistakes as they deal with their hormones. All of my behavior was to be expected due to my age and my instincts. In short, the only punishable offense I committed was breaking curfew, and that I will never do again."

Adante positively howled. "Are we sure she's not one of yours, Kraven?"

"Might as well be, mightn't she?"

Still laughing over the pointed display of sarcastic erudtion, Polonius picked up a pink piece of paper, with messy pink writing and soaked in perfume. "Any guesses on whose this one is?" he quipped. "I'm Sorry: by Aurelia Jane Hepburn, Parador House, Go Parador!"

"Oh, sweet Merlin," Robin groaned.

"I would like to say that I am very, very sorry for my behaviour, and I will never ever ever repeat it again. Well, at least not until the next time. It's against the rules to be drunk on school property, but we weren't actually allowed to be off school property any later than two in the morning, so it was really kind of a catch-22, wasn't it? We shouldn't have been playing in the snow, but from what I can remember, it was really fun, which should make it okay, shouldn't it?

"Maybe I shouldn't have made out with so many boys at the club, but it was New Years, and everyone needs someone to kiss at midnight. I just had more people not to disappoint than the other girls. I told them not to leave marks, or at least, I'm fairly sure I told them not to leave marks, but maybe alcohol leaves you more prone to bruising? It's nice not to have to buy drinks, though. If you're cute enough, the boys at the bar don't even ask how old you are. All you have to do is smile and say you're thirsty and they'll fall all over themselves to buy you a drink, which is handy, since I'm not actually old enough to buy it myself. Is this long enough yet?

"I would like to finish by again saying that I am sorry, and I know we were wrong, and I hope it won't be very long before you'll lift the restrictions so we can do it again, because it's awfully fun."

There was a moment of stunned silence before the entire room burst into laughter. There was something that was just so….sweet, about Aurelia. She charmed you even as she stunned you with her vapidity.

"Quickly, Adante!" Polonius gasped. "Read Elowen's before we run out of breath entirely."

"She's a southern belle," Evangeline added helpfully, and Adante's eyes lit up beneath his short horns.

"My Night of Hell," he began in a slow southern drawl, "by Elowen Marie Dondale, Lobostro House.

"I can assure you, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that I will never, ever do such a thing again. I had rather be stung up and fed to a mama gator whose babies are being turned over a slow pit fire than suffer through another hangover. Being allergic to the remedies, I have gone through absolute hell, and have no wish to ever, ever repeat it. While the evening was a lot of fun, the repercussions were anything but, and I am giving serious thought to becoming a teetotaler in the immediate future. I think I have to claim partial responsibility for making us late for curfew, but Guy tells me that I passed out twenty minutes after two, so I honestly have no idea what delayed us those other forty minutes.

"I apologize for fussing y'all, and I furthermore apologize for the brevity of this essay, but my head is still pounding! Rest assured, I am more than contrite, and will not be hoping for any repeat performances."

Robin winced, giving herself a mental note to send the poor girl a headache potion as soon as she got out of dinner.

All eyes turned to Kraven as he pulled the final essay towards him. Word had gotten round to the others that had stayed about what Clark had said in his lecture that night, and most of them had been appalled that he would call the girls what he had. They understood his frustrations, and the level of stress he was under, but they also knew Kushiel, and she was no one's doormat. The Head of Colubrae cleared his throat and began. "The Evils of Drink and Dance: How This Country has not Progressed From its Puritan Roots, an essay by Kushiel Rhiannon de Navarre, Colubrae House."

"Oh, hell," Clark snarled, face in hand, and Tyler bit back a most unsympathetic chuckle.

"I would like to begin," Kraven continued, "by pointing out that, in my country of origin, the country in which I have citizenship, I am of an age to not only consume alcohol, but also purchase it. For a full year, I have been considered a legal adult in my native land, given free rein to maintain or destroy my own body in whatever manner I see fit, be that drinking, smoking, or marriage.

"The argument has to be made, however, that regardless of the opinions of my home governments, I am still subject to the laws and regulations of the dual governments of the nation in which I reside and am educated for the majority of each year. This is absolutely true, and I am certainly to be held accountable to these exacting standards.

"Happily, I can now inform you that indeed, no laws were broken.

"In the United States of America, it is illegal to sell alcohol to those under the age of 21. Along with this, it is likewise illegal for a person under the age of 21 to attempt to purchase alcohol. Isn't it lucky, then, for the sake of our law abiding souls, that we did not, in fact, purchase any alcoholic beverages? There can be no denying the fact that a great many members of the group were thoroughly soused upon our return to the school, but at no point did money change hands, as our personal accounts as well as the books of the club will show. There is no minimum age for the consumption of alcohol, only the sale and purchase of it, and while some might condemn the intake of spirits as vile and unethical, it is not actually illegal. For the concerned, upright, moralistic individual, further complaints can be directed to your Congressmen and –women.

"The second charge leveled against us is that we were irresponsible in the extreme in the use of magic around persons of the muggle persuasion. This is absolutely untrue. At no time was magic used within the presence of muggles. Some magic was, naturally, utilized in preparations for the evening out on the town. More than half us are, in fact, female, so this is only to be expected. They were harmless spells done in the safety of our dorms for such purposes as keeping us in our clothing (Aurelia being a prime example of the necessity of this) so that dancing would not cause an unintentional exposure, as well as charms to make hair and makeup more manageable. Though our wands were with us in the case of an emergency, they were not drawn or used at any point off of school grounds. We Apparated (all of us duly licensed) from the gates of the school to a deserted back alley of the club, hidden by a wall of boxes placed there specifically to shield us from curious eyes. No magic was expended in the club, and we returned to our Apparation point, making doubly sure that we were not followed or observed, and used the portkey given to us by this administration, at precisely two o'clock, our given curfew. We found, to our initial dismay, that the portkey did not take us to the entrance hall, as was traditional and expected, but merely to the gates of the school. Cloaks being more or less unique to the wizarding world, we do not take them with us when we go out, for to carry them would be to excite notice, and to shrink them is to take the chance that someone may see the magic. As we did not wish to perform magic in any kind of inebriated or tired state, getting soaked the skin was an unavoidable happening. We chose to make the best of a bad situation and enjoyed a pleasant romp through the snow. Had our portkey delivered us to the expected point, we would have arrived precisely on time for our agreed upon curfew. As it did not, tardiness was inescapable.

"A third charge brought against us is that our behaviour was utterly devoid of all decency, morality, and propriety. I believe the word used to describe those of us of the female persuasion was 'whores'."

Those who had not been at the school over the break gasped, Polonius' eyes going wide. "Who called them that?"

"Keep reading, Kraven," Clark ground out from gritted teeth.

The evil smirk in plain view, the tall Divinations professor did as he was asked. "Who the hell is pronouncing this judgment upon us, and who gave them this qualification? Are we returning to the times of Puritans? If so, at least out color scheme was in keeping. Are we so lamentably Victorian in our thinking that the merest flash of an ankle is an unforgivably erotic and arousing sight? We are eighteen and older, in the flush of our youth, and it is entirely possible that our bodies will never again be so fit as they are now. We are legal and consenting adults, in any country, and considered to be in full possession of the life experience needed to make such choices for ourselves, had any of chosen to indulge in passions of the flesh. None of us did. You may find us entirely devoid of discernment, but we are more than capable of deciding such things for ourselves. Given that we were not arrested for indecent exposure or lewd and lascivious behaviour, I feel it sage to say that no laws were broken, and that no generally agreed upon standard of dress was violated. As for certain attributes being plainly visible upon out return, we were wearing white shirts after being forced to walk through falling snow. I daresay you are more than capable of determining the rest of that equation for yourselves. Our morals are as individualistic as we are. As there was nothing done against the rules of Avistrum while school was in session, you frankly have no say in the matter. Nimue knows there are those among you who should dare cast no stones in the name of moral outrage; your own behaviour has not always been above reproach.

"The fourth, and final, direct accusation laid at our door was that we knowingly, willingly endangered ourselves in the name of frivolity. This is utterly absurd. Persephone surely has better things to do with her time than pursue a gaggle of young adults into muggle Richmond on the birth of the new year. If She hasn't, you have been seriously overestimating Her as an archenemy and evil mastermind, which, might I remind you, has already been proven She is not. If your paranoia is grown so rampant that it cannot help but see darker shadows than truly exist, then She has already won, for Her view of the world will shortly be the only one that is seen, as you hide away in your castle chasing passing sounds. Your job as educators is to prepare us for the world, not to shelter us from it, and you are doing us a grave disservice by attempting to keep us ignorant.

"In short, no laws, magical or mundane, were broken, you are not in any position to judge our moral choices, your paranoia is overwhelming you, and I apologize that we caused you worry in our unavoidable tardiness."

In the absolute silence that followed the end of the essay, the sound of Clark's goldfish spilling across the stable as he stalked from the room was eerily loud.

"Did he really call them whores?" Grasella asked quietly.

He was a wee bit frustrated that night," Kraven replied lightly, stacking the two essays neatly together. He was thinking of framing them.

"This is going to be a loooooong semester," Sachiko sighed, and the others nodded thoughtfully.

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When Cliona went looking for Kushiel around midnight that night, the first place she looked was the loft of the barn. She very narrowly escaped a thestral bite for her troubles. She next sought her friend in the Colubrae dorm, the common room, the Great Hall, the library, and even the Headmaster's office. She was about to call defeat when she remembered Professor Kobiyashi's enchanted garden off to one side of the entrance. She headed out, casting a Warming Charm against the cold, and finally found her friend sitting on the floor of the magically heated pagoda in the center. Cherry trees and dogwoods bloomed out of season, and Ganymede appeared to be most curious about the huge, living goldfish in the koi pond.

"What's up?" the lycan asked, sitting down next to her.

"So, the crush has died a horrible and rather gruesome death," the redhead answered casually.

"How did that happen?"

So, sitting together in the middle of the garden, Kushiel told her friend everything that had happened since they had separated at Hallowed Haven. From the parapets, Clark looked down on them thoughtfully, a candle sputtering by his side. When he saw the Enigmus girl reach out and cradle the Colubrae, the redhead crying, he felt even worse, but strangely calmer. He couldn't go back and change it, and he wasn't certain if he even should fix it, but at least he was reassured of her well being now. Cliona would take care of his Kitten until she was all right.


	17. With a Single Stroke

**Disclaimer: Astonishingly enough, they're still not mine. I just play with them. A lot. Teeheehee…Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, Avistrum to Avistrum LLC. **

_A/N: Please review? pleading puppy eyes_

**Chapter Seventeen: With a Single Stroke**

Unwilling to taunt himself, Clark had moved Kushiel's tiny desk and cabinet to a slightly larger space in the staff room, adjusting the wards to allow her admittance. Before the first week was out, the other professors had become entirely accustomed to the sight of the redhead working diligently at her desk in the corner, either at her homework or her tasks. Ambitious, and willing enough to put in the extra work, she had added History of Magic into her list of indepth studies; she and Professor Avarra were often to be found debating points of history while taking breaks from their other work. They little noticed her when they held their conversations, so she was able to hear a great deal more than she should have, but she was discreet, giving them no reason to remove her from their midst.

Thus it was that she was alone in the room with Professor Bloodthorne when she received her own copy of the latest report. She tapped her wand against the parchment and then hit the map in front of her, watching a tiny pinpoint of light beam from the town in question. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and her mind started spinning with heady ideas.

"Sir," she said slowly after a time. "Have you read this report yet?"

"Yes, Kushiel, I have," was all he said. He didn't even bother to look away from his newspaper.

"You know, Ashton isn't all that far from here."

He looked up at her sharply, his dark eyes narrowed. "Absolutely not," he declared firmly.

"Hear me out first?" she asked, not backing down. When he reluctantly nodded, she left her desk to come sit next to him at the large staff table. She took a moment to gather her wildly churning ideas into some semblance of order, conscious of his heavy scrutiny. "There's actually a rather good, privately owned art store in Ashton," she began slowly. "I go there sometimes on breaks to get supplies. If the painter is there, it won't be terribly long before he moves on, but we have a few days before he does that, if he holds to his normal pattern."

"Have you forgotten that it's been a mere month since the debacle of your birthday?" he reminded her sourly.

"I have not forgotten at all," she retorted. "The fact remains, though, however much he would like to say no for further punishment and my being a student, the Headmaster will have to listen to reason. The painter has a vested interest in me, so if he sees me go into the art store, he will follow. I have the ankh the Headmaster gave me at Christmas, so as soon as I see him, I can activate it and the Dark Hunters and SWAT can be there in a heartbeat. There are no anti-Apparation wards on the shop. It will take time for Persephone to find another artist she feels worthy of her patronage, and that time can be used drilling the painter for anything at all that could help us capture her." She regarded him with earnest green eyes, hands clasped together in her lap. "Sir, if you can get him to agree, we can make this work!"

Kraven was not so insecure in his position as to overlook suggestions from unlikely places, not if they were manageable. So, he thought about it, his mind's eye casting him about in an entirely new direction. When his vision cleared, he appraised her thoughtfully. "You promise no heroics?"

"I'm sorry, did I suddenly get re-Sorted into Parador?"

He snorted rudely and lifted his paper again. "I'll bring it up with him."

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Clark, however, was not the first person he brought it up with. Instead, he called together the other Dark Hunters. If he gained their unanimous support, Clark really wouldn't have a choice. The Headmaster may have been the leader of the group, but he insisted upon a democratic method, which was about to come back and bite him in the ass.

"I don't like it," Polonius said immediately. "She's a student."

"She's also damn clever," Kraven continued. "And she's come up with a plan that works."

"And if the painter just grabs her and apparates?" Sachiko asked, brows furrowed.

"We can trace the ankh, and if for any reason she loses that, there are other means of tracing her." He hedged on that one. As her Head, he had been told the full nature of the student's newest decoration, but he felt no need to share that with everyone else. Strengths were not all meant to be exposed.

"Why is she so sure that he hasn't left town yet?" Tyler inquired quietly. "The attack was two days ago."

"She says he likes to see the results of his work." He hesitated for a moment, then decided to play the other hand. "I've Seen it work."

It took them a moment for the full effect of his statement to sink in. "Kraven," Sachiko demurred. "That's just one possibility."

"Yes, but put together with what I know of Kushiel and what she knows of the painter, if seems like it's a very strong possibility. She's willing to do this, and it's probably going to be our best chance of ever catching this man. Clark received an owl with another sketch of her; in it, she was sitting up in the loft of the barn, at the window. It's entirely new. She didn't go out to the barn during October. She was too tired."

"So the painter has been on school grounds again."

"It would certainly seem that way."

"We don't have much of a choice, then, do we?" Polonius groaned. "We have to get him locked up."

"So we're agreed?"

Polonius, Sachiko, and Tyler traded glances, but none of them could think of a solid reason why it couldn't work. Sachiko sighed and spoke for them all. "We're agreed."

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Clark glowered as he watched his student come down the stairs. He had agreed only after hours of debate, and was still far from happy with it. If only she didn't look so damn casual, like she was just going on any normal outing. She wore black and white pinstripe pants with a matching tie over a sleeveless, form fitting white dress shirt. Black heeled sandals that would be easy to kick off if need be adorned her feet, her long red hair back in a loose French braid. A small black purse looped over one shoulder, a glossy black that echoed the sheen of the ankh hanging around her neck and the leather jacket that would keep her warm.

Kraven glanced down at his watch with a small smirk. "That only took ten minutes. You can't be in Colubrae."

"The benefits of Advanced Transfiguration," she replied lightly. "Add that to the Charms, and it was all done by wandwork."

"So you don't actually own those clothes."

"No, I do, I just didn't feel like taking the time to dig for them."

"This is not a date," Clark ground out. Somehow, this girl was fraying every last edge of his badly stretched nerves.

She gave him a sideways look and said nothing, which was almost more disturbing than her normal pithy replies.

"Shall we go, then?" Tyler suggested carefully, gauging the tension. He whimsically held an arm out to the redhead, which she accepted, and they led the way out to the school gates.

"You remember everything you're supposed to do?" Polonius asked her, trailing a short distance behind them. "As soon as you see him-"

"I activate the ankh," she answered calmly. "No heroics, no starting conversation, no doing anything stupid. And if I feel like I'm in any danger, I'm to Apparate out immediately."

They reached the gate and Sachiko handed her an envelope. Quirking an eyebrow, Kushiel glanced inside and smirked. "What's this?"

"Consider it a belated birthday present from the faculty and staff at the Avistrum Academy of Sorcery," she replied with a nearly straight face, only marred by the barest of winks.

"I'll have to compose a thank you note, then," she replied placidly, slipping the twenty Galleon bill in her purse. She lifted the simply latch on the gate and took the two steps off of school property. "See you again soon," she told them, giving them a flippant little wave.

"If I die before I'm forty, it is entirely her fault," Clark grumbled.

The petite Deputy Headmistress put her hands on her hips and turned to glare at the Headmaster. "You know, Clark, I am getting awfully sick of your attitude. It's like you two were dating and had a messy break-up or something."

Tyler and Kraven very carefully didn't look at each other.

"She will do us proud, Clark. You'll see."

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Kushiel looked around her as she appeared on the stoop of the art shop. Ashton was a wizarding town, so there were no hazards in suddenly appearing out in the open. She opened the door and entered the building, smiling at the proprietor. "Good afternoon, Ms. Akers," she greeted.

"Oh, hello, dearie," Ms. Akers chirped back. She liked the redhead, who went to the school not far away. After checking to make sure that she didn't need any assistance, she went back to her crossword puzzle book.

Wandering along the aisles, Kushiel allowed her fingers to trail over the fine papers. She could almost forget the purpose for her visit amidst the smells of oils and turpentine. She found herself in front of the racks of individual charcoals, pulling out any that caught her eye and testing them on the roll of paper provided purely for that purpose. She selected several, then moved on to the racks of colored pencils. The oil pastels were a temptation, but more dangerous than the colored pencils for when she sketched in class. Her eyes caressed them longingly, but her hands stayed away, brushing against the wooden lengths instead. She chose colors that had a great deal of grey to them, thinking of giving everyone that had gone to Howl for her birthday a sketch. They had all work black and white, but the various greys could provide a great deal of depth to them. She had enough back at the school to make backgrounds and borders and all of the other features, like eyes and hair.

She'd been in the shop nearly forty minutes when she heard the bell over the door ring merrily. She kept half her attention around her, the other remaining on the sketchbooks before her. There was one with black leather binding and a beautifully embossed silver Endless Knot on the cover. It was perhaps more than she had planned on spending, but she had her own money. She hadn't expected the extra money from Professor Kobiyashi, so really, it was just a bonus. She smiled and picked it up, nestling it in the crook of her arm. She needed fixative still.

"That's a beautiful choice," a soft voice commented beside her.

She turned to find a man standing some few feet away, light brown hair falling into his eyes. His cheek and hands bore streaks of paint on them, the way a truly absent-minded artist often does. His shirt had, at some point, been white, but time and paint had rendered it an odd hodgepodge of colors that blended and streaked carelessly. "Can I help you?" she asked, one hand rising casually to clasp the ankh hanging over her tie.

"You look different when you're awake," he noted, reaching out to stroke her cheek with one finger. "Less peaceful. Less innocent."

"I'm sorry, what?"

Instead of answering, the man gestured to her back, where the darkest lines of her tattoo barely showed through her shirt. "Did that hurt?"

"A little," she replied cautiously. "It wasn't that bad, though."

"I'll bet you liked it."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't really know-"

"Yes, you do," he corrected with gentle amusement. "You go to the school. They haven't let you out recently, but they've let you out now."

"I had a break between classes," she told him, shifting all of her selections to one arm. If she had to make a grab for her wand, she didn't want to break everything else by dropping it. "They don't know I'm here."

He looked at her oddly, clear hazel eyes confused. "But that's breaking the rules."

"Well, yes…"

He shook his head, heedless of the fine, almost baby soft hair falling across his forehead. "My mistress likes you," he informed her guilelessly, even earnestly. "She likes the way you look at things."

"Your mistress?" she echoed, feigning ignorance. "You really should gloat about cheating on your wife, you know."

The man she knew for certain now was the painter blinked at her in puzzlement. He turned away from her slightly, mumbling to himself, and she took the opportunity to cast a discreet Silencing Charm on the bell over the door. The last thing they needed was for him to hear the bell as his would-be captors came in. She briefly say a dark shadow by the door, but paid it little mind, concentrating instead on the man before her.

"I smell the roses on you," he mused finally. "And you are fond of roses."

"That's just a perfume," she lied easily. "But yes, I'm fond of roses."

"Dried roses, I mean."

She smiled slightly, hearing muffled footsteps from the doorway. "I like those as well," she admitted. "They're very…eerie."

He returned her smile shyly, peeking out at her from a curtain of hair. "I told her you understood. She wasn't so sure, but I told her you did."

"Understand what?"

Opening his mouth to tell her, he suddenly found himself in a containment field, unable to speak or leave. His eyes widened, staring at her accusingly, and she met his gaze calmly, her wand in one hand, the sketchbook and pencils in the other. She watched as the Headmaster spelled a pair of enchanted manacles onto the painter's wrists and ankles, chained together and magically bound.

"You did well, Kushiel," her head of house complimented her, coming to stand beside and slightly in front of her. His wand was pointed directly at the painter, and she had no doubt that, desired information or no, he would kill the man if he tried anything.

"Let's get him back before SWAT shows up," Clark ordered. "We have a few questions of our own that need to be asked. Tyler, Kraven, please bring Kush back with you." He grabbed the chains and Apparated out with his prisoner, closely followed by Sachiko and Polonius.

"Are you ready, Kush?" Tyler asked her.

"One more thing, sir." She grabbed a can of spray fixative and took her items to the counter, paying for it all with the baffled shopkeeper. Bag in hand, she returned to her two bemused professors. "Now I'm ready." She smiled whimsically at her Head's disapproving look. "I did come here to get some supplies, sir, the painter was just a handy excuse to be allowed to leave campus." The last thing she heard as she apparated out from the doorway was Tyler's rich laughter.

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Placing her purchases in the trunk at the foot of her bed, Kushiel peeled out of her transfigured clothing, dropping it on top of the trunk to change back later. Carriegan looked up from where she lounged on her bed with her Divinations homework. "Field trip?" she asked archly, sliding in a bookmark to keep her place as she stretched.

"Something like that," she replied obliquely, sifting through her wardrobe. "It won't be repeated, that I can promise."

"They saw you?"

"Escorted me back in."

"Lose any house points?"

"Not this time."

"Get a detention?"

"Not yet."

From the brevity of the responses, the metamorphmagus knew there was more to it. She also knew, however, not to ask. Her fried would tell her when she was ready, or she would not.

Being Friday afternoon, with all classes done for the day (she'd been firmly told that vanquishing evil was no excuse for missing a lesson), she didn't have to change back into her uniform. It was, however, merely the first of February, which meant it was damn cold in that dungeon. After shivering for several minutes in her bra and underwear, she pulled on knee high socks, silky black slacks over knee high boots, and a tight, cowl-necked sweater in a deep rich plum that went well with her coloring.

"So is Cúan coming for Singles' Awareness Day?" she asked, sprawling across her bed. She was thrilled to see the other girl give a smile that was just the other side of silly.

"If he can get permission." She suddenly closed her book with a snap and sat up, her eyes (a pale grey-blue for the moment) narrowed. "Speaking of which, I've been wondering for a while now, but I left it alone. No more. I'm borrowing some of Aurelia's Paradork tactlessness."

"Okay…"

"What is going on between you and Headmaster Dowling?"

Kushiel sighed, but it was time. "Well, there was a crush, apparently a mutual one, then a mistletoe kiss at Christmas, followed by the predictable 'she's a student' freak out."

Tapping her pen against the side of her book, Carriegan thought for several minutes about what she'd just been told, bringing in everything else that she'd observed over the past several months. It was enough for her to make, not a complete picture, but one that was definitely close enough. "So it is now…"

"Dead in a most severe and painful fashion." Kushiel reached out with her right hand, bringing Nicolas closer to pillow her cheek as she lay on her stomach facing her friend.

"And recently."

"Christmas, like I said."

"Hence him being madder than a wet hen at New Years?"

"Hence him being madder than a wet hen," she affirmed. After a moment, they both snorted and added: "…with messed up hair."

They both laughed at that. Though nothing had been explicity stated, Clark had seemed to take Carriegan's too-honest evaluation to heart, and the hair had been trimmed to a more reasonable length a few days after the debacle of New Years.

Carriegan stretched again, brushing her hair (in blonde waves for the day) back over her shoulder. "So, who's next?"

"I don't know yet," she admitted.

"Any other professors on your list to do?"

"I didn't do him," she refuted with a giggle.

"All right, any professors on your to do list?"

The clearing of a throat brought their attention to Professor Bloodthorne, standing in the doorway. "Before I hear anything else that I don't need to be hearing, may I borrow Kushiel in my office for a moment please?"

"Of course, sir." Kushiel slid off the bed, shrugging at Carriegan's quizzical look. For once, she actually couldn't think of anything she'd done to merit attention. She walked beside her head of house as they passed through the dormitory and common room. It wasn't until they'd passed his office that she looked up at him. "Sir?"

"The painter won't talk," he informed her, starting straight ahead. His jaw was clenched tightly, and she almost felt a moment of pity for the painter if the others were unable to control the dour divinations professor. "Clark doesn't know you'll be there, but the rest of us think the man will talk to you."

"Veritaserum?"

He shook his head. "If the SWAT team finds it in his system when they come to get him, we'll be in big trouble. We're not officially a government group anymore, so we still have to have permission to use it."

"Ah."

Leading her into Clark's office, he made a complicated series of wand movements in front of a bookcase filled with Defense books. The case slid aside, revealing a steep, twisting staircase. Kraven gestured his student before him and closed the bookcase behind them. For all that he was not a broad man, his shoulders swept the walls as they climbed the stairs At the top was a plain, heavy wooden door with iron locks and a large bar that would normally lay across the middle, but which was currently standing straight up. He made the same series of movements with his wand to open the door.

From across the mid-sized room, Clark scowled as soon as he saw the redhead come in behind Kraven. "Absolutely not."

Tyler shook his head where his former Housemate couldn't see him, then caught Kushiel's eye and nodded towards another door behind him. "He's in there."

"No!"

Ignoring the Headmaster, Kushiel smiled slightly. "Is there a way I can get a sheet of paper and two pencils?" she asked.

Even as Sachiko headed down the stairs to retrieve the items from Clark's office, the others stared at her. "What in the name of Merlin is going through your head?" Polonius asked wryly.

"A means of distraction." She said simply. They waited for her to explain further, but she didn't, and soon enough, Sachiko was back. "Thank you."

Tyler opened the door for her, and as soon as it was closed again, the wall between the two rooms became clear. Kushiel and the Painter would still see stone blocks, but the Dark Hunters could see and hear everything that was going on. It was a handy spell to have for interrogations, and they'd used it many times, but there had never before been a student on the other side with the prisoner.

The room was small, certainly not intended to be used for any long term holdings. It was dominated by a rectangular wood table chained to the floor, three chairs chained along with it. The Painter sat in one, facing the two empty ones. His own chains had been wrapped through the chair and table legs, effectively keeping him there, but one of his hands was free. It moved across the table, his finger acting as a stylus of sorts, his lips moving as he talked silently to himself. She watched him for a moment, continuing to take in the rest of the details of the room. There was barely enough room to navigate around the table, but it was positioned in such a way that she could make an unencumbered run for the door if something should happen.

Walking to the table, she slid down into the seat directly across from him, setting the sheet of paper down between them. She rolled one of the pencils towards him but said nothing, merely starting to sketch an ornate lacework border onto the paper. After a moment, she heard the scratch of the second paper, and looked through her eyelashes to see him copying her almost exactly on the other side.

For several minutes, they drew in silence, finding a comfortable atmosphere. She was oddly relaxed around him. She hadn't expected to be, he'd attacked her after all, and wounded many of her friends, but there was something so touchingly innocent about him. Something genuine. Without looking up, she broke the silence. "Won't your mistress be worried when she doesn't hear from you?"

He smiled crookedly at her, the baby fine hair falling into his face. He made no move to push it away. "She will know. She always knows, somehow."

"You don't know how?"

"That's why she's the mistress," he shrugged. "She can do many things that I cannot. I just paint."

"And paint well."

"Thank you." Reaching the edge of the paper, he chose not to continue the lace work onto the side, but started going back through what he'd already done, smudging in shadows and definition. Watching him, Kush emulated his actions. "I didn't expect that," he admitted after a time. "What you did today. Your face didn't show it."

She smiled slightly at him, nodding. "I'm sorry that I had to lie to you, but do you understand why?"

He shook his head guilelessly, frowning at a smudge crossing one of his lines. Tip of his tongue between his teeth, he erased it carefully, blowing the flakes off the sheet and table. "They keep asking me questions, but they don't answer mine."

Her pencil still moving, Kushiel took a moment to determine the best way to phrase it. A lot depended on making him understand. Finally, she sighed, brushing a wisp of hair from her eyes. "Your paintings, and your mistress, are hurting people," she began. He said nothing and waited for her to continue. "I know you don't mean to, but they do. People's minds fall into your paintings, and they hurt others, sometimes kill them. Your mistress has a history of sponsoring people whose works are quite similar in that aspect."

"They were never meant to hurt anyone."

"I know," she murmured, and she did. "But they do. Even some of our students here were hurt."

"They were just supposed to be beautiful."

"Just because something is beautiful doesn't mean it can't hurt." She finished detailing her edge and continued up the right side, sensing rather than seeing him follow her course. "A storm is beautiful, but it can still harm or kill."

"This is true." He looked up at her, his hazel eyes brimming with tears. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," she soothed, still sketching. "We know you didn't mean to."

"But they'll still put me away, won't they? They won't let me paint," he told her mournfully, his pencil coming to a stop.

"I don't know," she admitted. "It's possible that they'll still allow you to paint, but you won't be allowed to have your wand, or special paints. It will just be ordinary paint and canvases, and you won't be able to magic them."

"But I could still paint?"

"Maybe," she told him, unwilling to promise him anything she couldn't guarantee. "There's a chance, anyway."

They drew in silence, going back to smudge and detail the sides. "I don't know where my mistress is," he announced suddenly. "She always sent me a message telling me where to meet her. I always just saw her there, I never knew where she was coming from."

"How did you first meet her?" she asked softly. "Did someone else introduce you?"

"No." He shook his head. "She just came up to me one day, when another gallery refused my work. She said the greatest artists were often misunderstood at first. She said she'd help me find people to appreciate them. Was that wrong?"

With a wry smile, the student shook her head. "I don't know. I don't think I'm a very good one to judge on what's right and what isn't. I can understand it, though." She glanced at him briefly. "Is she still as handsome as she was in her yearbook photo?"

To her surprise, a euphoric expression floated across his face, settling into ecstatic eyes. "She is not just a sponsor, she is a muse," he informed her quietly.

She looked down at the paper, the entire center open within the lacework border. "Can you draw her for me as she is now?" she requested. When he hesitated, she reached out and lightly touched the back of his hand, feeling a shock of static run through them both. "I don't ask this to get you in trouble," she whispered. "But we have to find her. She doesn't understand that she's hurting people, just like you didn't understand until a little bit ago."

He nodded reluctantly, pulling the paper closer to him and starting to sketch in earnest. "You'll be kind to her?"

"I can ask," she said carefully. "I don't really have any say in it."

"She's a very gentle person most of the time," he relayed, frowning in concentration. "She gets mad sometimes, and she's a little frightening then, but she's usually very nice. Whenever we would meet at a park, the children always seemed to like her, though they were a little cautious. But I thought it was just because she was a stranger." He paused and looked up at her for a heartbeat. "It wasn't just because she was a stranger, was it?"

"Children sometimes understand things that older people don't," she agreed. "But they're also more willing to work through them." She watched him work, his hand moving in graceful strokes. "What is your name? This whole time we've been calling you merely the painter."

He smiled fleetingly. "My name is Rafael da Lucca."

"Kushiel de Navarre."

Silence fell once more between them as he drew. Watching them from behind the wall, Clark knew that the Painter couldn't harm her, he was chained and had no wand, but it frightened him that he might still be able to invest some kind of power into the drawing. There hadn't been any power to the sketches he kept delivering to the office, but one never knew.

He was proud of her, though. In a subtle, Colubrae way, devious in its seeming forthrightness, she was accomplishing what their attempts at intimidation had not. He couldn't decide if it was truly due to her being in Colubrae, if it was because she was female, or if it was because she understood the painter and Persephone so well. He wanted to say it was a combination of the three, as so many things were. There had been no need to press when the Painter-no, he reminded himself, Rafael-had said he didn't know where Persephone was. Truth radiated out from him in waves of goodwill. It was odd to feel so secure in the honesty of one of their captives, but there was just no denying the gentle soul of the man on the other side of the wall.

When Rafael was finished, he slid the paper across the table, fingers brushing against Kushiel's hands as she picked it up. If the picture was accurate, and she had no reason to doubt that it was, Callia Waylen was indeed still a very handsome woman. Streaks of grey coursed through her crisp black hair, two crow's wings falling from her temples, but it lent dignity to a stern face. Her mouth was closed, expressionless, but there was a kind of Mona Lisa Smile floating through her dark grey eyes. Those eyes held a few lines around them, but nothing that marred the strong beauty of her face. A dried rose behind one ear held part of her hair back from her face, the hair on her left tumbling over her shoulder in thick half-curly waves.

She passed trembling fingers over the page. "She is still beautiful," she commented. "Does Haddi belong to you or to her?"

"To her," he sighed, his hands fidgeting with the pencil now that there was nothing upon which to draw. "She would send him to me with her messages, or to help me do something I couldn't. He and his ancestors have served her family a very long time." For the first time in talking with her, he avoided her eyes.

"What's wrong?" she queried, laying the page down beside her. Later on, she would need to make copies, so everyone who needed one would have it, but for now, she was still in the room with Rafael the Painter, and he needed her attention more.

"Are you angry with me?"

She almost laughed, his voice was so plaintive, but she didn't. "No," she answered, surprising herself when she realized it was the truth. "You were doing what you thought was good. I can't be angry with that, for all that it goes against what I believe. You didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"But not everyone will see it as you do."

"No. Not everyone does."

"Will they kill me?"

She met his eyes gravely, again unwilling to lie, even to give him reassurance. False reassurance would only make him feel worse later. "I don't know." She laid her hand over his, stilling the nervous turns of the pencil, and kept her gaze with his. "I hope not, but I don't know."

He gave her another crooked grin, finally brushing the baby fine hair from his forehead. "Thank you," he whispered. "At least I know." He looked to the wall separating them from the Dark Hunters. "They take good care of you," he told her calmly. "Haddi says they work very hard."

"They do, yes," she agreed with a smirk. "The students have always been their first concern."

"I don't think that's true," he refuted softly. "They have been going after my mistress for longer than they have been back at the school, she says."

"True. But ever since the school was affected, they've been working even harder. They aim at overall justice, yes, but the moment the school is targeted, they drop everything to protect us."

"Yes, that is so," he accepted. "You are lucky in that."

Remembering the shaking, terrified embrace of the Headmaster as he carried her to the infirmary that first nightmare back in October, she nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "Yes…we are."

"Kush." They both looked up at the open door to find Clark standing there. "You need to come out now. Dennis is on his way with his men."

She nodded again and stood, the drawing in hand. She met the painter's sad eyes and smiled, bringing his hand to her lips and kissing his palm. "Luck, Rafael. I hope it's with you."

"And with you, Kushiel. Thank you."

The door closed behind her when Clark ushered her out, and she wordlessly handed him the portrait. To her amazement, he set it aside on the table holding their newest notes and embraced her tightly, but briefly. It wasn't impersonal, but it was a far cry from the others she'd experienced with him in the past, and she quirked one eyebrow.

"You did wonderfully in there," he told her, pulling away. "You got far more information than we could have. Thank you for that."

She shook her head. "I simply understand him better. One of you would have figured it out." She winked at the Deputy Headmistress. "Probably Professor Kobiyashi; she's female, after all."

That brought a spark of levity back through the tension, and Tyler grinned. "So are you saying males are obtuse?"

"No, just painfully direct," she retorted. "If I put a baseball bat in your hand and give you a wall, you're fine, but if I were to give you a needle, you'd be thumb-handed."

Kraven came up the stairway, closely followed by Dennis Andrews and a team of armor-clad SWAT men. The Divinations professor, glaring sourly, retreated to a dark corner, leaving the government man to nod in greeting to Clark. "Is he inside then?"

"Yes, he is."

"No chances, boys," Dennis informed his men. "Wands out, stun him."

"You always stun helpless, unarmed men?" Kushiel couldn't help but ask dryly, ignoring the warning look she received from the Headmaster.

"Who the hell is this?"

Clark stepped forward and placed a hand on his student's shoulder, squeezing it tightly in further warning. "Dennis, this is Kushiel de Navarre, one of our students."

"You're letting students near the fiend!"

"This student is the reason we have him at all," Kraven growled. He wasn't overly fond of Dennis. In his opinion, the man tended to run about like a chicken with its head cut off, leaving the Dark Hunters to do his job for him. That dislike tended to show through, too.

"Clark, what-"

"I told you that one of our students had been selectively targeted back in October," the Headmaster reminded him. "Kush was that student. He's been fascinated with her since then, and she proved to be the perfect bait needed to capture him." He didn't add that he'd had extreme reservations about that situation; Dennis didn't need to know that. "She was also the only one who knew how to talk to him."

"If you treat him like a common criminal, he'll be confused," she informed the government man succinctly. "He understands now that he was hurting people, but he didn't know that beforehand."

"Forgive me if I don't take the word of a seventeen year old."

"Eighteen," she corrected, shrugging. "And you'll learn the same thing once you use Veritaserum. If you don't treat him gently, he'll shatter, and you won't get anything useful out of him."

"He is a murderer!"

"No, he is not. Death lies on his hands, yes, but it was not intentional."

"That doesn't change the fact that he is responsible for their deaths."

"No more so than one isn't responsible for the death of someone else when the other dies in rescuing the first," she agreed mildy, watching him pale dramatically. She had done her research well, and that included looking up personal information on each of the major names attached to the cases. So, she had learned that Dennis Andrews had once had an older brother, a sibling who'd died in saving Dennis from drowning when the ten year old ignored the house rules and went swimming unattended. Some guilt never faded, no matter how much an accident, and nothing could have struck him so close and so truly. "And his name is Rafael da Lucca."

"You seem quite friendly with him," the blonde ground out.

"He talked to me," she shrugged again, a very Gallic movement that could have meant anything. "We understand each other, he and I. He never meant to hurt anyone." She eyed the man narrowly. "And if you take away his art completely, you'll kill him as surely as putting your wand between his eyes and AKing him."

"The man is a menace, a dangerous menace, and you want me to put those tools back in his hands!" he demanded shrilly, his mid-range voice cracking.

"No," she refuted coolly. "I want you to be a decent human being and allow him non-magical art supplies. He won't have a wand, he won't have magicked tools, he'll be harmless. Art is his life."

"His life may soon enough be over."

"And that's for a jury to decide, not you."

"Kush, enough."

"No, sir, I'm sorry." She shook her head, not looking to see the frustration flash across Clark's face. "He's not guiltless, but he is innocent, and I cannot be so easy in my conscience if I throw him to the wolves."

"He has hurt a lot of people."

"And I speak as one of his victims," she shot back, emerald eyes flashing. Her fingers twitched against her wand, but she didn't draw it from her sleeve.

Clark met Dennis' gaze calmly, keeping his hand on the young woman's shoulder to show his support of her stance. With a sigh, Dennis shook his head. "Fine," he gave up. "We will be gentle, and see that he has supplies. Can we take him in now?"

Rather than answering, she simply stepped back to lean against the wall next to Professor Bloodthorne.

Straightening his robes about his shoulders, Dennis emerged into the room and read Rafael his official rights, leading the man out still in chains. From across the outer room, hazel eyes met green ones, both in perfect understanding, for a single moment before they led him down the stairs. Kush sighed and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall.

"Why so glum?" Tyler asked her softly. "We won."

"And soon enough, we'll get to do it all again," she answered. "We haven't caught her, only her minion, and she'll find another one. Only this time, she'll be even angrier at you guys, because you keep getting in the way of beauty. She's getting more and more dangerous."

"And on that gloomy thought…." Clark shook his head, dark hair falling neatly back into place. "The rest of us have reports to write, and I'm sure you have homework to do, Kush."

"Yes, sir." Taking the not-so-subtle hint, she nodded to the other professors and left the tower room, heading back to the now empty dormitory. She lay on her bed for nearly ten minutes, staring up at the dark green canopy. Finally, she pulled out her sketchbook. It wasn't her new one, but rather a plain one that was mostly filled, and dug out her colored pencils and charcoals. She drew two pictures, identical, and tore the second one out, writing a swift note along the bottom.

She wasn't sure if this would actually work, and was even less certain that if it did she wouldn't get in massive amounts of trouble, but she had to trust. "Haddi, come here please."

Several minutes went by, and she thought he wouldn't come. Then, with a slight pop, the oddly dressed house elf appeared before her in the seventh year girls' dorm, his entire body trembling like a leaf. "Haddi will not betray the mistress," he squeaked bravely, regarding her with terrified eyes.

She regarded her sketch of Rafael, his hazel eyes capturing the innocent goodwill. Across the bottom, she'd written _He deserves better than he's getting_. Before she could think again, she folded it up and handed it the house elf. "Just give your mistress that, please, Haddi, will you?"

Startled, he took it and popped out again, leaving the girl to collapse back on her bed with a sigh.

She was just dozing off when Carriegan poked her head back in. "Hey, Diamonds, we're thinking of playing a game of Queens and Pawns out in the courtyard," she announced. "Want to join? We need our fourth queen."

"Sure." Kushiel sat up, reaching for her wand automatically to perform the Warming and Water Repellant Charms so that she wouldn't have to layer on more clothing. Despite her deep sympathy for the painter, life went on, and there were games to be played and plots to be hatched. She followed her friend out to the courtyard, the two of them chatting along the way of the best strategies to put in place for the game that was really just a more refined version of a snowball fight.

It would take time for Callia Waylen to find a new artist she considered worthy of her patronage, time for her and her new minion to wreak havoc large enough to be brought to federal attention. In the duration, Kushiel intended to live freely, and that began with joining Carriegan, Cliona, and Aurelia in thoroughly whomping Guy, Gwen, Raven, Elena, Artanus, and Elowen in a game of Queens and Pawns.


	18. A Sleepy Interlude

**Disclaimer: They are not mine, they belong to the people to whom they belong, I make no money off of them, I do not claim them, please don't sue me.**

_A/N: I love you all for reading, but I would love you even more for reviewing._

_A/N: Do you have any idea how squicky it is to write lemons involving friends? You all had best appreciate this nonsense. And, I have to admit, this is a mostly silly chapter. This is what comes of waaaaay too much sugar combined with not enough sleep and roleplaying._

**Chapter Eighteen: A Sleepy Interlude**

The seventh year Care of Magical Beasts students, those hardy few who had elected to continue on, gathered in the little-used Classroom on the first floor of the school. They barely ever used it, as Professor Ward preferred a more hands-on approach to magizoology. That he didn't have nearly as many injuries as Hagrid attested to his watchfulness, but any class that met in the dusty room was guaranteed to be odd.

He walked in two minutes late, whistling cheerfully as he set down a large object covered with an opaque black cloth. "Good afternoon, class."

"Good afternoon, Professor Ward," they chorused warily.

The six four redhead perched on the edge of his desk. The pro-season was over, and training wasn't for another couple of months yet, so he'd actually had that blessed balm of heaven: sleep. Gone was the absentminded air that came about from too full a schedule. Behind him, the chalk rose of its own accord, ready to write down the most pertinent points of his lecture. "There's a new species been discovered, did you know?" he asked them with a grin. "It's called a Lizzeon. Anyone heard of them?"

Three students of the fifteen raised their hands.

Shrugging, Tyler smiled. "That's all right, I don't expect many of you to know. So. Lizzeons." The chalk scratched the name out on the chalkboard for them to take down in their notes. "They are the first documented case of a magical creature evolving to adapt to muggle technology. They evolved from the fire salamander, and are found almost exclusively in heavily urban areas. Who can tell me what salamanders feed on?"

Cliona raised a lazy hand, not entirely awake. "Fire, sir."

"Very good. Preferably, but not exclusively, magical fire, to be exact. Five points to Enigmus. With muggle expansion, however, the fire fields are being changed into arable soil for farming and development, and such things, so the salamanders were starting to lose their homes. They've been officially classified as an endangered species, though nowhere near extinct yet, thank Circe, and have started being bred in preserves and zoos. Some, however, rather than dying or migrating as their homes were destroyed, started adapting to their new environments in the cities. Can anyone guess how?"

Gwen raised her hand, a slightly puzzled expression on her face. "By adapting to non magical fire, sir?"

"Close, but not quite. Anyone else?"

"They found a different food supply," Elowen supplied, and he nodded.

"Yes, but what?" Silence met him. Grinning, he gathered the edge of the black drape in one hand. "Light." He pulled the drape, revealing an aquarium that blazed with light. Reaching in, he pulled out what they assumed to be a Lizzeon. Slightly smaller than an average salamander, this particular one was a bright, electric blue, with just a hint of violet at the edge of his tail and paws. He clambered gracefully across the professor's large hand, looking up at the lights attached to the ceiling. "Neon lights are best. But, the point is, they've adapted to ingest artificial light. Or more nearly, _muggle_ light. Thus, they're one of the very few magical creatures capable of surviving in muggle urban areas, and the only ones so far to have actually evolved in order to do so. These guys are clear when born, and gain the color of the first light they ingest. So any guesses on what this one had for his first breakfast?"

"Blue with a garnish of purple," Kushiel laughed.

"Five points to Colubrae, very good. Some of them will be solid, some of them will be multi-colored. Some, however, will still be colorless, or very nearly so. Can anyone tell me why?"

Cliona raised her hand; she liked Care of Magical Beasts. "Because the ingest light that's nearly colorless? Like soft watt bulbs, or something of that nature?"

"Well done, Cli, five points. Now, the problem with these little guys is that they get their energy from light, and that energy has to come from somewhere else. Why is this a problem?"

"They drain the light," Kushiel offered, grinning at a neon green Lizzeon that was plastered against the glass.

"Exactly, five points. Whenever you see a muggle neon sign with part or all of it out, not turned off but actually burned out, it could be simply a light failure. Chances are, though, that it's a Lizzeon infestation. If not properly cared for in a pet relationship, these guys can send energy bills for muggles skyrocketing. They're inexpensive pets, but very expensive pests. So, class project. You're each going to have the care of a Lizzeon for the next two weeks. If at the end of the trial period, you've grown attached, you're more than welcome to keep your friend, and if not, we'll keep them as school mascots."

Kushiel snorted and leaned across the aisle to Cli. "Yes, instead of the Avistrum Eagles, we'll be the Avistrum Lizzeons. The other schools will quiver in fear."

The lycan snorted into her hand.

Taking the tank in hand, Professor Ward walked up and down the rows of desks, scooping out a Lizzeon and placing it on each occupied desk. "You have the rest of the class period to say hello to your new friends."

Kush looked down at the small creature on her desk, its body dayglo green with a flaming streak of scarlet down the center of its back. "Sir, what about feeding them?"

"Ah, yes, I thought of that, too. For today and tonight, I have a muggle glow stick for each of you. Tomorrow, you'll have to start scrounging. They can also eat sunlight, though, despite finding it rather tasteless, so a good long walk outside will also do the trick."

Trying not to squirm, Cliona allowed her Lizzeon to march up the long sleeve of her grey hoodie and burrow into her hidden cleavage. It wasn't slimy, but it was a decidedly uncomfortable feeling. "I think mine is a pervert, sir."

"So what are you going to name it? Aidan?"

The look she threw at her friend could have fractured rock. "No. Herbert."

"Herbert? How in hell did you get Herbert?"

"It was the first name I thought of that wasn't Aidan."

Snickering, the redhead stroked hers gently down the spine. "I think I'll name mine Temeraire," she said quietly. "That's a dragon in a book my mother lent me."

"A Lizzeon is slightly different than a dragon, Kush."

"I'm aware of that, Cli. They're still related, though."

"This is true." She tugged thoughtfully on shaggy brown curl. "You know, Cúan can probably send us some more glowsticks. He gets them all the time for when he goes to Howl without us."

"That would be nice of him." Kushiel cocked her head to one side. "Do you suppose Headmaster Dowling would allow us to use Excalibur in a naming ceremony for the Lizzeons?"

"He uses the Holy Grail for what?"

"This is true."

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"I call Lysander!"

"Go for it," Kush agreed, tying off the ribbon holding her hair back in a braid. "I want to be the Rescuer." She grinned suddenly at the others. "Perhaps we should ask the Headmaster to come play the Rescuer. He was the first to successfully rescue the Peasants, after all."

"Who says you're going to be successful?" Cliona sniffed. "After all, my Lysander might just be better than the real Lysander."

"Not on your life, fuzz-butt," the vampire head snarled from his plaque above the High Table. "I was better than you'll ever be."

The werewolf sighed. "But I wanted to be better than the Headmaster," she replied dejectedly, making the other girls howl.

The girls had gathered in the Great Hall for a rousing game of Rescue the Peasant From Lysander after asking Fineus to ensure that their Guest of Honor would be present. Forewarned by the chortling leprechaun, the faculty and staff had gathered on the Saturday afternoon at their usual places at the High Table to watch. Clark was mildly frightened of what might occur, but determined to watch, nonetheless.

"I'll be a peasant," Elena offered softly. She threw her arm dramatically over her forehead. "Oh, help me, please! Save me from this bloodthirsty vampire!"

"Ooh! Me too! Me too!" Aurelia giggled, bouncing up and down excitedly.

"Carr?"

The metamorph regarded Elena with narrowed eyes. "Me? A peasant? Please."

Snorting, Kushiel shook her head. "You should know better, Elena. Are you our monitor this time, Hearts?"

"Sounds good to me."

"I want to be Renfield," Elowen announced, crossing her arms over her chest.

Without further ado, Kushiel struck a heroic pose on the table top, brandishing her wand like a sword at Cliona. "No more of your evil and heinous ways! I abjure thee, Master of Darkness, give way!"

Tyler leaned over to murmur to the bemused Kraven. "This was before I got back. Did he really talk that way?"

"Not to my knowledge, no." Kraven was of two minds about the game. Despite the highly undignified manner, the girls seemed to have a lot of fun, and they could always be counted upon to make a few smart jabs at anyone within reach.

Snickering, Cliona grabbed hold of Elena, dragging her underneath the Colubrae tables. Crouching down beside her, she took a delicate nibble on the other girl's arm. "Never! I shall take my peasants and feast upon their blood!"

Spinning her wand in a fancy, but mostly useless, trick, Kushiel conjured a string of garlic, "Demon, I abjure thee!" She wrinkled her nose as the stench of the garlic wafted back towards her. "Let the peasant go! We repeat, let the peasant go!"

Cliona's arm snaked out and grabbed Aurelia about the ankles, garnering a startled cry from the blonde as she crashed to the floor, and dragged her under the table as well.

Aurelia shrieked melodramatically, and all within hearing winced. "Help! Help! HELP! Ow!" She rubbed her arm where Cliona had given her a proprietary nibble, frowning. "That kind of hurt."

The Enigmite blinked and playfully whacked the Paradork. "I didn't bite _that_ hard! I know what my diseased saliva can do."

"Does Carriegan?"

"Hey!"

Cliona stuck out her tongue at Aurelia, then at Kushiel and Carriegan for good measure.

Elena grinned. "Yes, you need to watch the diseased saliva. I wouldn't want to worry the house elves by ordering my steak raw for the rest of the week." She pretended to struggle against Cliona, flapping her hands wildly. "No! I shall never become one of your wretched victims. The mighty Kush shall save me!" She gave an adoring gaze to the Colubrae girl. "Yes, vanquish this foul creature and set me free!"

Glancing around, Kushiel found a glass of water and grinned wickedly, grabbing it and holding it aloft. "This water is blessed by a priest, I'll have you know, and I WILL NOT HESITATE TO USE IT!" She threw the contents of the glass in Cliona's face. "Whoops!" She winced, sinking down slightly into her shoulders. "Sorry…I didn't know it still had ice in it."

"Funny, I don't remember that happening," Sachiko whispered wryly.

"Maybe it was while we were blinking?" Kraven offered helpfully.

Sputtering and swiping the water off her face, Cliona scrambled to keep the ice cubes from sliding down her shirt. Alas! It was too late! She took off around the hall, hopping, wriggling, and yelping in a bizarre, ice cube induced ritual. "Get them out! Get them out! Get them out!"

Acting as Renfield, Elowen ran up to Cliona, pelting her with small pieces of cheese.

"Lysander, you leave me no choice!" Diving at Cliona, Kushiel wrestled her to the ground, ice still firmly in place, and pulled off the left, battered converse sneaker, quickly followed by the sock. Sock in hand, she jumped to her feet, backing away quickly. "Now all I have to do is fill it with stones and drop it into a river! Quick! Which way to a river!"

Elowen looked around, pointing towards the High Table and jumping up and down, squeaking slightly.

Cliona yelped, ice cubes now very much stuck to the inside of her clothing. She continued the odd ice dance as she started chasing after Kush, her left foot bare, pausing briefly to snatch a piece of cheese out of the air. Glaring at Elowen, she popped the cheese into her mouth and chewed savagely. The dance pursuit then resumed.

Wriggling out from under the table, Elena threw herself at Kush, glomping her side with tears of joy streaming artfully down her face. "Oh, you saved me, kind avenger. I knew you would!" She pointed towards the High Table, just like Elowen. "The river is that way, m'lady. Please, hurry!"

"Thank you, Renfield. And you, Hapless Peasant." Kushiel pointed to Cliona with the sock, an imposing look on her face. "You see, fell demon! Not even your own servant will support you in this! Soon, Hapless Peasant, and you, too, Shrieking Peasant," here Aurelia interjected a bloodcurdling scream for added effect, "you will be free from the blood-sucking scourge!" Making to march off, she promptly tripped over Cliona's abandoned shoe. "Oops."

"I can't recall, Clark, did that happen?" Robin whispered wickedly, earning a rueful chuckle from the Headmaster.

Snorting, Cliona resigned herself to the discomfort and threw herself on Kush in an attempt to get back her left sock. "Mine!"

"Oof! Back, fell demon, back!" Squirming out from under Cli, the would-be Rescuer ran to one of the tables and grabbed the rock they'd been using earlier for High Heeled Hopscotch, dropping down into the sock. "Renfield! Hapless Peasant! Quick! Guide me to the river! Shrieking Peasant, stay where you are, you're more useful there!" Aurelia shrieked in reply. "We need a river now! And as the hero, I must always end in exclamation points!"

At that, Cliona couldn't help but snicker before resuming the ice cube dance. "What the hell are these things?" she demanded. "Never melting!"

Elena rushed to Kushiel and began to lead her towards the High Table. "Here, this way."

Kushiel followed the Hapless Peasant turned Trusted Guide. It was a good thing, really. With Shrieking Peasant, Hapless Peasant wasn't really needed anymore, but Trusted Guide definitely was. "Quickly, my friend! Before the Holy Ice melts and leaves the dastard able to pursue!"

The pair wove around tables, approaching the dais in an indirect way, and Elena discreetly flicked her wand, subtly enlarging the bowl of soup in front of the Headmaster. "We are almost there, m'lady. Truly, you are very brave to take on one as evil as Lysander."

The true Lysander snorted.

Squirming on the ground, Cliona whined up at them with pleading eyes. "Make it stop!"

Just to make it more interesting, Carriegan pulled out her wand and Vanished the ice cubes.

Heedless, Kushiel continued on. "Ah, Trusted Guide, it is my duty as a hero! We must all be brave! We must all be righteous! We must all have really good hair! We must all be ever in search of the most rewarding quests and trials! And we must always, always end in exclamation points!" She jangled the rock stuffed sock. "How much farther, O Ye Who Was Once Hapless Peasant!"

Cliona blinked. "Yay!" She shot to her feet and plowed down Kush at top speed.

"It is but a bit farther up-" Elena and Aurelia both screamed as Cli stole the sock from Kushiel and bounded away back towards her shoe.

"NO! Curse your evil ways, O Dung of Cerberus!" Racing after Cliona, she hopped over the Engimus tables and made a flying leap, which actually landed her two inches short of the startled werewolf-cum-vampire. "Ow…."

"Diamonds, you okay?" Carriegan queried as monitor.

"I'm good." Shaking her head, Kushiel jumped up and continued the race, pelting her friend with small cloves of garlic. "Subsist! Surrender! Be graceful in defeat! Abjure thy evil ways! Drink milk: it does the body good! Cease and desist!"

Cliona blinked and wheeled around at the milk comment. "WHAT!"

Snickering, Elena waved a lazy hand. "Fight on, my champion. Rid the world of her putrid soul. End the bloodshed and restore the spirits of my village!"

Taking advantage of the erstwhile-vampire's surprise, Kushiel tackled her again, pouring more Holy Water and Blessed Ice (this time grabbed from the indignant Carriegan's hand) over her. "I will not be beaten! Never give up! Never surrender!"

Elowen howled with laughter.

Wresting for control of the sock, Kushiel decided that the time had come for drastic measures. Setting her face in a fierce grimace of concentration, she set to work tickling Cliona mercilessly. The other girl shrieked at the new intake of ice into her clothing and struggled wholeheartedly against the attack.

Cliona squealed loudly. "Where the hell is Callum when I need him! I mean, uh…Oh no! My powers are weakening! I need to feed!" Grabbing the tickling arm, she gnawed on it through a fit of giggles.

"ARGHHHHH!" Kushiel redoubled her efforts, straining through Cliona's chuckling chomps. "Peasant! I must be free before I can make my heroic sprint to the bo-er, river and throw in the rock with my final, gasping breath!"

Racing forward, Elowen stood and began pelting Cliona with clump after clump of cheese, squeaking loudly.

With the further break in the Enigmite's concentration, the Irish girl hopped up and left her writhing and gasping on the floor. "To the river!" Sprinting down the length of the hall, randomly jumping over benches and tables that were nowhere near the most direct path, she leapt onto the High Table itself, much to the surprise of their audience, and toppled gracefully to the surface directly in front of Clark, her hand losing its grip on the sock just over the surface of the soup in its enlarged bowl. She then fought snickers while watching the rock filled sock soak up the chicken noodle soup broth. "There! Now, Lysander, your evil days are done!" She got to her feet, still standing on the High Table, brandishing her wand like a sword. "You know what this is, you blood-sucking bat!"

Cliona shrieked out in pain, her hands outstretched. "My sock! My left sock!" Her eyes widened at the sight of Kush. "It cannot be! It cannot possibly be! Excalibur!" She cowered in a distinctly unseemly manner.

Aurelia bounced up and down, wincing when she forgot she was under the table and managed to bonk her head. "Huzzah! The villain will bother us no more!"

Kushiel stalked closer, 'sword' held up. "Your evil days are numbered, Lysander Tepish! You have purloined your last pint!" Staring down at her friend, she gave a truly impressive sneer, modeled closely after the one her Head of House customarily wore. "Say your prayers, demon, for your breath is about to expire!"

Sipping from a new glass of water, Carriegan lifted her eyebrows delicately. "Lysander _and_ Excalibur? Does this mean you're Clark Dowling, then?"

All of the girls laughed, and Elena shook her head. "Oh dear, and I've been calling you m'lady."

Kush lowered her wand, worrying her lower lip thoughtfully between her teeth. "Eeps…I hadn't thought of that beyond the passing mention." She glanced up at the High Table. "Hapless Peasant? What think you?"

"I sayeth thy pretend I never called me m'lady, m'lord."

Falling to the floor, Cliona laughed hysterically, eventually managing to fall back into character. "It burns! I die! MY SOCK!"

Kushiel took a moment to pull herself (himself?) into a more truly imposing figure, advancing upon 'Lysander' with the sword in front of her. Gone are the exclamation points of hackneyed heroes, and in their places stand Clark Dowling (ish) of the Dark Hunters, fully intent on ridding the world of a most dangerous foe. "It is nothing compared to the pain you have inflicted for countless years, Lysander. Your powers are broken. But, just in case…." She swept down with her wand, then stared at Cliona. "_Psst…Elena….a little help here?_"

Giggling, Elena threw her cloak over Cliona's body, leaving just her head in view.

"_Thank you._" Kushiel knelt beside the head, tangling her fingers in the shaggy brown curls, 'Excalibur's' point resting against the ground. "I am going to hide your body in such a way that you can never regain it and be rejoined with your powers." She suddenly smiled grimly. "Your head I think I'll keep in my office. I want to be able to keep a close eye on you, Tepish."

Coming out from under the table, Aurelia grabbed Elena's hands and the both of them started skipping around in a circle. "Ding dong, the vampire's dead. Dowling came and took his head. Ding dong, the vampire's essentially dead!"

The redhead snorted with suppressed laughter, fighting the need to let it out. "And, Lysander, because I am generous, I will allow you to bring Renfield with you. He can carry your messages for you and brush your fangs. I will not have it be said that I am so sadistic as to knowingly inflict cavities upon a creatures whose pride as a species is in his teeth."

Out of gratitude, Elowen pelted Cliona with some more cheese.

Cliona wanted to say something appropriately snarky in response, but she was laughing too hard to come up with one. "Lysander, help!"

"Go chase a tennis ball, fuzz butt!"

"Shouldn't he say that to Cliona, not to Kush?" Aurelia whispered loudly.

Smiling, the Rescuer rose to her feet and dusted off her knees. "Worthy Peasants, my work here is done." The participants of the game stared at each other for a long moment, then Kushiel grinned, raising her voice. "When there's something strange, in your neighborhood, who you gonna call!"

"DARK HUNTERS!" The other five called back.

From up at the High Table, the adults all applauded above the gnashing of the actual Lysander's teeth. "I think I like their verson better," Sachiko called to her superior.

"So do I," he quipped. "I had better lines in theirs."

"And more exclamation points," Tyler added.

"Grrrr, if I had my body, I would-"

Whatever else Lysander would have said was abruptly cut off by the real Renfield shoving a rather large lump of cheese in his mouth, causing all of the faculty and staff to resume their laughter.

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Carriegan, Cliona, and Kushiel sat together in a tight little knot in Advanced Dvinations. This class was tiny, only twelve students daring the dour professor; that and a lot of students tended to think it was all a bit woolly, anyway. The dungeon classroom was cold in mid-February, so friends tended to stay huddled together for warmth. Anyone taking the class without a friend either froze or piled on more layers, because Warming Charms were strictly forbidden in the classroom. Any kind of wandwork was forbidden, really; Professor Bloodthorne informed them the first day of class third year that wands were not necessary, only Sight, intuition, and intelligence.

He generally found the third one to be equally as lacking as the first two.

"It is your lucky day," the Head of Colubrae announced as he walked into the classroom in a swirl of black robes. "I am feeling magnanimous today. Meaning group work. Get into a group, I don't care what size, and discuss your recent dreams and possible meanings. If you have a question, decide whether or not it's an intelligent one. If it is and won't waste my time, you may ask me. If it's stupid and a waste of time, waste your classmates' time, not mine. Go." With that, he sat down behind his desk and opened up the stock section of the paper, hiding his face from view.

The three girls shared a wry look. These days happened every once in a while. They were just random days where he didn't feel like teaching or interacting. Their third year (the first year of taking the electives course), Carriegan had tried tracking it to see if it was a male form of PMS, but either it was unrelated, or Professor Bloodthorne had a highly irregular male hormone cycle.

"So, who's first?" Cliona asked after a moment, clearing her throat. She wasn't all that good at days like today; she almost never remembered her dreams, even if she tried to write them down when she awoke.

"I dunno, I kind of feel like Professor Bloodthorne today, "Carriegan yawned. She loved the class, it was one of her favorite subjects, but again…there were just some days.

"I doubt he's going to ask us to share them," Kush pointed out, doodling some design ideas in her sketchbook. Kraven's birthday was in early March, and she was thinking of drawing him a handmade Tarot set. He was, after all, the Best Head of House EVAR, as they'd all decided in their first year.

She hadn't done anything for the Headmaster's birthday two weeks before.

"You know, actually, I would like your opinion on a dream."

Cliona regarded Carriegan with raised eyebrows, her Arithmancy book already propped open on her knees. "Yeh? What was it?"

"I had a dream that I banged Professor Bloodthorne."

"Did he See you cumming?"

Both girls choked at Kushiel's muttered comment, and it wasn't half a second before the paper at the desk came down and their professor regarded them carefully. He was fond of all three of them, but a reaction like that never boded well. They didn't give anything else away, though, so the paper came back up.

"Was he good?" Cliona asked a moment later.

"Oh, dayum!"

At the muffled laughter, the paper came down again.

They waited patiently for it to go back up, which took slightly longer this time. "That could explain the smile on Professor Kobiyashi's face recently."

The paper came down at the cut off squeal. It was almost two minutes before it went back up.

"And the scowl on the Headmaster's?"

"Ewww…."

They had to wait almost five minutes before it went back up that time.

"I wonder why he doesn't just come sit over here and listen if he's that worried about it."

"Because he's not that brave."

"And not that stupid."

"Well, duh, that's why he's head of Colubrae, not Parador."

Seven minutes of silence with the paper down.

"Think we can get away with this the whole class period?"

"Hell, we could just laugh or snicker at random intervals. We wouldn't have to say a damn thing."

"True!"

Ten minutes.

"Dare we go for fifteen?"

"Fifteen what? Minutes?"

"No, midgets, dumbass."

"Hmmm, Professor Bloodthorne, surrounded by fifteen midgets…now there's be a sight to see."

Fifteen minutes.

Carriegan paused by his desk on their way out at the end of the class period. "Did your stocks go up, sir?"

He just stared at her sourly.

Kushiel leaned forward and murmured in her ear. "Even if his stocks didn't go up, his ire sure did."

"Just as long as it was his ire, and not anything else," Cliona added in the barest of whispers. All three girls snorted and walked out, leaving Professor Bloodthorne to sigh and promptly bang his head on his desk. When he finally go to the column he'd been looking for, he frowned and sighed again. Down ¾.

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Cúan found it distinctly odd to have to contact Callum to make sure he and Cliona wouldn't be necking in the hayloft that Saturday afternoon, but then, maybe that was just part of growing up. He really didn't want to have to think about his little sister necking with anyone, but Callum wasn't a bad sort, so far as little sisters' boyfriends went, and he supposed he could tolerate him if Cliona decided to keep him around for a while.

So, in the bright and semi-frigid Saturday afternoon, Cúan McCullough made his way up the long walk to the main doors of Avistrum, where Carriegan met him with an elf-prepared picnic basket. He kissed her lingeringly in greeting, his hand cupping the back of her neck.

She smiled when he eventually pulled away. "Hello to you, too."

"To the barn, then?" he asked, picking up the basket and offering her his arm.

They chatted on their way to the barn housing all of the Magical Creatures, and by tradition, Professor Ward looked straight down at his desk as they walked past, not catching a single glimpse of them. Tyler was cool like that; he wasn't supposed to let the students use the barn as a make out spot, and was supposed to give them strict detentions when he caught them doing it, but he'd rather they make out in the barn so he knew where they were in case of an emergency than find some new spot. He'd been young once, not very long ago. He'd found all sorts of interesting places to make out with willing witches; he'd just rather not have to look through them all if something came up.

Opening the basket, Cúan spread out the red and white checkered blanket, cushioning them against the prickly hay, and sank down onto it, watching her through half-lidded eyes. When she took off her thick cloak, she revealed a knee-length skirt of plum suede, a perfect match to her hair, and a lacy black top that really took his mind to some interesting places. They ate in companionable conversation at first, nothing truly signifying, but she decided it was a little unnerving how intensely he was looking at her. She's seen owls less fixated on mice.

When they were finished, he packed the leftovers into the basket and stretched out on his side next to her, bracing himself on one elbow so he caress her cheek with his free hand. "Where do you see us going, Carriegan?" he asked quietly.

"I possibly see us going to one of the guest chambers under a Disillusionment Charm," she told him frankly, eyes widening hugely. "Why did I just say that?"

"I meant after graduation," he clarified with a grin, though the other idea was certainly tempting.

"Well, I'm most likely going to do an apprenticeship somewhere," she told him, still frowning.

"Anywhere I can follow?"

"I don't know, I haven't decided yet. Cúan, why-"

"Carriegan Ellette Chantrea, where do you see _us_ going after you graduate?" he growled, straddling her hips to look straight down at her. "You and me, what do you see for us?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly, and a touch resentfully. She was being compelled to tell the truth, and she didn't like it. Not one bit. "You put Veritaserum in my drink, didn't you?"

"I needed to know," he whispered in her ear, leaning down to nuzzle her neck. "And you know damn well that you would sidestep the questions no matter what you felt if I didn't."

She did know, and he was right. That didn't excuse it. "Get off of me."

"No." He sat up, green eyes thoughtful, but he didn't move away from her, nor did he try to shift into any more intimate position. "I have to know, Carr, because if I'm just some idle amusement to you until you leave, then I'm not sure I want to be your toy. Is that what I am to you?"

The metamorph cast about desperately for some way to tell the absolute truth without giving away too much, but the Veritaserum had the added advantage of making her mind just the slightest bit fuzzy. "You are not an idle amusement," she said finally, biting her tongue to leave it at that.

"Then what am I?"

Was it possible to sidestep the question entirely, or would she have to answer it? She decided to find out. "Cúan, I am eighteen years old, and getting ready to graduate in a few months. Even if you were the absolute love of my life and I couldn't imagine spending a single day apart from you for the rest of my life, there are still things I want to do before settling down."

"Even if. So I'm not."

"Did you expect to be?" she spat up at him, past furious by this point. She wanted to make him angry, too, but Cúan had been influenced by his Colubrae best friend for a few too many years to so easily fall for that, Parador though he had been.

Stroking her cheek gently, Cúan regarded her with veiled eyes. "Carriegan, exactly what do you feel for me?"

Damn it to hell. She couldn't avoid that one, the compulsion was too strong. She averted her eyes from his, staring stonily out the large cut out window. "I am very fond of you," she said flatly. "Though I'm pissed as all hell at the moment. I could see us becoming serious one day, but I wouldn't want to be steady right out of school, because I'd be missing so much. You make me laugh, and you make me melt, and I think you're damn sexy, but right now, I'd really love to just shove you out the window and let you fall."

The werewolf regarded her for a long moment, his thoughts indecipherable by his expression. Finally, he leaned down and suckled on her neck, making her writhe in frustrated fury, and bit her hard at the fleshy curve into her shoulder. "I know you're pissed, and I don't blame you. I'll leave you alone until you decide what you want to do," he murmured into her neck. He licked the stinging bite. "I just don't want you to forget me while you decide."

To say that she was stunned was an understatement, but he shocked her even further by getting up, brushing himself off, and walking silently out of the loft and down the ladder. She sat there for several moments, then got up and left the basket for the house elves to recover, jogging up towards the school. She found her friends playing jumpscotch in the Great Hall, an odd combination of hopscotch and jump rope that made both games more challenging. "Kitchen," she told them. "Now."

Cliona and Kushiel shared a look and nodded, following after Carriegan while motioning for the others to stay put. Sometimes small groups were best, and they knew she was supposed to have a date with Cúan today. Cli and Kush knew him far better than anyone else, which made them the best equipped to deal with whatever the issue was.

Down in the kitchen, suitably plied with chocolate by happy-to-serve house elves, Carriegan told them what had happened with narrowed eyes, the fingers of one hand drumming savagely against the table. Cliona closed her eyes and sighed. "I'll tell Da," she offered. "He'll kill him."

"He would, too," Kushiel agreed. "Veritaserum? I'd like to kill him myself."

"I think you'd have to stand in line," Cli told her lightly, earning a bare laugh out of Carriegan.

"What are you going to do?" The redhead asked carefully, mindful of the Veritaserum still in effect.

"I don't know yet," she sighed. "I'm still torn between dismembering him, ignoring him, and shagging him."

"Carr! Brotherage! Ew!"

The two Colubrae girls snickered helplessly at the Engimite's outrage.

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Having a boyfriend to whom she was seriously attached meant that all of the bad influences Cliona McCullough had been withstanding for years all suddenly came crashing down on her at once. She was loving ever degenerate second of it.

Taking Callum by the hand, she dragged the unresisting, but slightly baffled, healer out of the infirmary as soon as his shift was done, sneaking him under the watchful eye of Mister Argiletum. "Bunny," he whispered, mindful of the way things tended to echo in the library. "What are you-"

"Ssh."

Bemused, he obeyed, raising his eyebrows when she pulled him into a nook cleverly hidden by the intersections of three sets of shelves. With only the soft light overhead and a thin stripe peeking out from their entrance, he couldn't even see her expression. He could definitely feel her, though. There really wasn't enough room for both of them in there and he couldn't imagine why-

…oh.

She claimed his lips almost savagely, and after a startled moment, he reciprocated with equal ardor.

Mordecai gave them barely a glance as the somewhat disheveled pair stumbled by his desk an hour later, flushed and grinning. "Enjoy your new decoration, Miss McCullough?"

"My new-?" She raised a now trembling hand to her neck, where her fingers brushed against the stinging swelling of a new hickey. She closed her eyes and sighed, waiting for the blistering reprimand. "Yes, sir."

"Just continue to be discreet, please, Miss McCullough."

She opened one eye, then the other, staring at him in astonished disbelief. "Yes, sir!"

Shaking his head, Callum shot the amused librarian a grateful look and followed her out of the library.

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"Now, you're sure you're both ready for this?"

Elowen and Kushiel turned pleading eyes upon Professor Aberfoyle, who laughed.

"All right, I get it, you're eager. Who wants to try first?"

"Ooh! Me!"

Kushiel snickered into her hand. "You know, for a moment there, Elo, you sounded like Aurelia."

The southern belle gifted her with a vague, but definitely rude, gesture, which probably wouldn't have been so vague if a professor hadn't been standing in the room with them. "Hush, you."

Pulling out his wand, Polonius shifted aside the desks in his classroom, creating a clear space in the center. "Remember to breathe, and focus. Visualize it as clearly as you can; all those details we studied are important once you actually get into the form. Whenever you're ready, Elowen."

Smoothing her light brown hair back away from her face, she stepped nervously into the space. Her blue eyes closed, she took several deep breaths.

"Come on, Elo," Kushiel whispered, near silently so as not to add pressure or break concentration. She winced as she watched the slow transformation; there were just some things the body was not designed to do by nature. Was this how Cliona and Callum felt each month?

A few minutes later, Elowen snorted and tossed her head, newly dark hair flying back over her shoulder. She looked at the other two with liquid eyes and snorted.

"Well done, Miss Dondale!" Polonius cried, clapping his hands along with Kush. "Fifty points to Lobostro!"

Suddenly, she started changing back, and she looked at her human hands mournfully. "What happened?"

"You succeeded," her professor told her with a chuckle, handing her a potion against the pain. "It's your first time; give yourself a little credit. Now that your body and you magic know the process, you'll be able to get there faster and keep it longer, but you have to work up to it. The pain with also decrease to zero eventually," he added, watching her sit down with a grimace.

"It had better," she grumbled.

"Kushiel? If you want to give it a go? Then we'll discuss both at the same time."

"Sure, sir." The redhead slid off the desk she's been using as a perch, walking into the open area. Closing her eyes, she gathered a sense of calm about her, calling to mind the detailed imaged of the form she wanted to flow into. Flowing, however, was not the right word for it. Maybe it would be with time and practice, but for the moment, it was an agonizing, awkward change. Bones shifted and stretched, while others shrank, and she could feel each and every alteration. Finally, it was done, and she looked up at the other two, who seemed as if they'd been washed with shades of grey. There was endless potential for power bunched in her muscles, but for now, she throbbed strongly with achy pain.

"Fifty points to Colubrae!" she heard Professor Aberfoyle announce, and she could hear Elowen's giggling applause.

All too soon, she felt the pain renew in a sharp burst, and she, like Elowen, was left staring resignedly at her all too human hands. "I think I like it better the other way."

"We almost always do," Polonius admitted, handing her a vial of potion. She drank it down, making a face at the taste, but felt it immediately take effect, the ache shifting to a bearable pulse. He transfigured two of the student desks into well padded papa sand for them, gesturing for them to sit. "Now that you've gotten into your forms for the first time, the absolute hardest thing from here on out will be to resist the temptation to use it exclusively. Don't be afraid to indulge in it, but if you find yourself spending more time as an animal than as a human, you need to back away for a bit. We were born human for a reason, otherwise we would have just been born as that animal. The more you assume your form, the more you'll find that certain characteristics cross forms." He smiled suddenly. "My mentor's mentor's form was a squirrel, and whenever my mentor got bored, he would give the other man a bowl full of nuts and just watch him eat it. Sometimes, these quirks will be hardly noticeable, and they can even be to your advantage at times. Other times, you'll have to be more careful.

"Most importantly, don't push your body too far. If you're in pain, it's because something is wrong, and your body needs time to adjust. For at least the next couple of weeks, I don't want you even trying to shift without me being there in case something goes wrong. Just because you got it today doesn't mean you'll get it the next time you try."

Once they'd finished going through the rest of the advice, he released them and settled back into his chair with a big, goofy grin stretching across his face. It wasn't five minutes before he found half the faculty at his office door.

"We saw the points jump," Clark explained. "Does this mean they got it?"

Polonius nodded smugly. "Two in one year!"

"What are they?" Adante asked him, rubbing his hands together in excitement.

The grin only grew bigger. "I'm not allowed to tell you."

"What!"

"They want to keep it a surprise until they're registered," he told them. "Probably so they can scare the living daylights out of everyone else at some point."

"Aren't they supposed to register as soon as they achieve it?" Sachiko queried softly.

"They don't have to, no, not since they're students. Being under the guidance of a master, they're given leeway through the stamina exercises, until they have a general idea of how long they can hold the form. They've got several months yet, so they should be fine."

"And you won't tell us? Not even a hint?"

He considered that last bit carefully. "A hint, then? Neither was a surprise."

Clark frowned. "That really doesn't help, Polonius."

"I know," he admitted with a chuckle. "That's what makes it so very much fun."

"You've been spending too much time with Kushiel," Kraven observed sourly.

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"Who wants to play Battle at the Hexagon?"

Cliona blinked and looked up at Kushiel, who was standing on top of one of the tables in the Great Hall. The professor had gone light on them for homework, even the seventh years, and the Hall was beginning to empty out after dinner. "Don't you mean Battle at the Ministry?"

"Does it look like we live in London?" She quirked an eyebrow and hunkered down to sit down on the surface. "We have our own evil baddies over here; why can't we play with them?"

"I dunno," Cliona shrugged, folding her arms over her chest. "My brothers and I just never played it that way."

Callum grinned and threw an arm about his girlfriend's shoulders, squeezing lightly. "Come on, Bunny. Play nice with your friends."

"I'll play," Elena offered, smiling. She was quickly followed by Aurelia, Elowen, and Carriegan.

The Enigmus girl frowned, but the others could see the coy look in her eyes. "Why should I play nice when I know you aren't going to play at all?"

He stared at her levelly, then sighed. "Fine, I'll play. But only to keep you in check."

"YAY!" Cliona squealed and threw her arms around Callum. "Wanna be a good guy or a bad guy?"

Wrapping his arms about her, he shook his head. "I don't care. Whichever side you're on, Bunny."

"I'll play a good guy," Elowen volunteered in her soft southern drawl. "It's what I always was with my uncle."

"What parts do we need to fill?" Carriegan asked reasonably.

"Well," Kushiel replied, worrying her lower lip thoughtfully between her teeth. "I should think Persephone would be an obvious one…maybe some of her minions and then a bunch of SWAT?" She raised both eyebrows. "Do we have any lefties to play Her?"

"Persephone's left handed?"

"Yup," the redhead affirmed. "You can tell by her handwriting."

"Not a lefty," Cliona denied, trying not to snicker as she looked sideways at Callum.

"Nor me," Elowen answered. It was echoed by Carriegan and Elena a moment later.

"Say Callum," Kushiel began casually. "Aren't you a lefty?"

Aurelia giggled. "Does that mean we can make him look like a girl?"

Sighing again, the British boy raised the offending extremity. "Yes, I am…and NO!" he continued, glaring at Aurelia. "You may NOT."

Snickering into her hand, Kushiel attempted not to lost it. "So, that makes Callum," she snickered again, "Persephone, which I guess makes Spades one of his, er, Her minions. Elowen wanted to be SWAT…who else?"

"I HAVE to be good," Aurelia stated emphatically, blonde pigtails bouncing. "I'm a Parador!"

"So does that mean I have to be a minion?" Carriegan quipped dryly. "Cuz that'll work, though I'll say here and now that I'm no one's minion."

"Persephone has a slightly different relationships with her minions, Hearts," the redhead assured.

Carriegan looked askance at Callum. "But he's taken. And he's supposed to be She."

"Carr? Ew."

"I'll be a SWAT member," Elena announced with a slight smile. "It's what I want to do anyway."

"So that's three on three, so I'll be a SWAT to make it three on four," Kushiel decided with a sharp nod. "Evil has to be outnumbered in children's games, it's a rule."

"Who's rule?"

"Rhon's."

"Oh." Carriegan sighed. "I forgot how nice your sister is. That's regrettable."

Glaring daggers at Kushiel, purely in character of course, Callum grabbed Cliona and Carriegan by the hands and marched off to a corner. "Come, my evil minions. We plot."

"Ooh, a plot!" Carreigan cheered. "I love to plot."

"Amuck," her co-minion agreed, and both their eyes lit up

"Ooh, amuck!" The cried in unison. "Amuck, amuck, amuck."

The other Colubrae cupped her hands around her mouth to call after them. "Remember, Cli and Cal, plotting, not petting!" She smirked at the cry of outrage and turned to her fellow SWAT members. "So, how shall we go about bringing the little girls down?"

"Ah, Miss Hepburn?" They turned to see Teaching Assistant Moffat standing in the doorway. "Have you forgotten that you're supposed to be serving detention with Mistress Craefter for not turning in your History of Magic essay?"

"Oh, damn!" She stomped her foot adorably, but it really didn't do much, so she sighed. "All right. Have fun without me."

"Have fun at the detention," Elowen told her.

Elena chuckled, answering Kush's original question. "What if one of us herded them into an ambush?"

"What, you mean like live bait?" Elowen grinned. "How fun."

"Hmmm, I like it…we'll just have to figure out what they're here for, though. Until then, guard duty. We'll see where it goes from there."

Tyler came to stand next to Grasella Moffat, just beside the doors. "And what are we playing tonight?"

"Battle at the Hexagon, I think."

"Ah."

Kushiel slid off the table and assumed a rigid stance at one end of the High Table, wand slung in easy reach across her hip as she duckwalked across the border of the dais. Chortling, Elowen and Elena joined her, stationing themselves at twenty foot intervals and stalking across the width of the hall. "All quiet, Waltz?"

In the back of the hall, Cliona crouched down and began to crawl from the corner, massively overdoing the sneak factor. Callum gave her a very gentle kick in the bum. "What do you think you're doing? You're going to draw attention to us! Try to act nonchalant, like you belong here." He tried to glare at her, but gave up when her lower lip stuck out in an adorable pout.

Carriegan rolled her eyes. "Oh, for the love of-"

"Mreh."

"All clear, de Navarre," Elena reported back, checking around her. "What about your end, Dondale?"

Responding more to Carriegan's eye roll than to Callum's glare, Cliona got to her feet and pulled her lower lip back in. "Yes, Mas-…Mis…" She huffed. "Whatever."

Elowen put on a stern expression, saluting and trying not to smile. "All clear, ma'am!"

"Our divinations experts tell us it's going to be a quiet night," Kushiel told her cohorts, taking a long pull from the flask of cocoa moo at her hip. "Thank Merlin for that."

Kraven appeared came to stand with Grasella and Tyler. "Again?"

"Something slightly different," Grasella countered mildly. "There's no Lysander in this one."

"And no hair-flipping Clark," Tyler added with a chuckle.

"Ah." He leaned next to them, arms crossed over his chest, and settled in to watch.

Elena snorted eloquently. "You know my opinion of the diviners."

"Oh, really?" Kraven murmured dryly, and Tyler punched him lightly in the arm.

"Behave. They're having fun."

"They haven't hired a decent one in years," Elena continued, totally oblivious to the faculty commentary. "Nonetheless, I hope they're right."

Elowen whirled about, wand in hand, as one of Carriegan's heels tapped against the floor. "Ma'am, what was that!"

Cliona, attempting to weave a dainty path past Elena with dignity and aplomb, tripped over her shoelace and fell heavily to the floor. "Damn!" She looked up at Elena with wide eyes, covering her mouth with both hands.

Kushiel blinked. "Wow, I didn't know evil was so clumsy." At Callum's rude gesture, one she doubted any of the Americans would have recognized, she pulled out her wand and pointed it at Cliona. "Halt! Who goes there?"

Elena followed suit, twirling her wand casually between her fingers as she stared at Carriegan, who, purely in the nature of the game, was twittering anxiously over the fallen co-minion. "Ma'am, this is restricted area, you will all have to leave."

Racing over behind the other two, Elowen pulled her wand and pointed it at Callum with shaky hands, playing the role of the nervous rookie for all she was worth.

Callum reached down and pulled Cliona to her feet, giving her a warning look. "We're Secret Service; we have access to the restricted areas, and we are in dire need of reaching the Secretary right away. We have some information he's been asking for." He nudged Cliona lightly. "This greenhorn here is a little overanxious."

Green eyes narrowed suspiciously, Kushiel held out her hand. "We'll need to see your badges, ma'am."

Carriegan reached into her robes like she was going to pull out a badge, but instead pulled out her wand. "Expelliarmus!" Cliona quickly followed suit with Elena.

Gasping as her wand flew out of her hand, the redhead turned to Elowen. "Quick, Dondale! You're the only one with a wand!"

"Ooooh!" Closing her eyes tightly, Elowen cast the spell with shaking hands. "Expelliarmus!" A handful of benches caught in the crossfire toppled over, and she regarded them sheepishly. "Oops."

Swearing under his breath, Callum grabbed both Cli and Carr and dove underneath the Enigmus tables. "We have to find someplace we can hold!"

"Ow! Spades, tell your boyfriend to stop manhandling me."

"Callum, stop manhandling Mayhem."

"Girls," he sighed, propping the bench in front of them onto its side.

Whispering together, Cliona and Carriegan conjured several piles of choice objects between them.

Kushiel rolled her eyes at Elowen, retrieving her wand from atop a nearby table. "Nice one, rookie. Waltz, where's yours?"

Elowen blushed and looked down. "Sorry, ma'am."

Rising to her feet, Elena came out from under one of the tables with wand in hand, dusting off her knees. "Right here, de Navarre. I knew those divinations experts were crackpots."

"Hear that, Kraven?" Sachiko murmured, coming to join the other professors.

"Hush," he told her, absently pulling her into the crook of his arm.

Inspecting the makeshift barricade from a safe distance, Kushiel shook her head. "We have to come up with some way to find out what they're after…" Her voice suddenly dropped low and soft. "Waltz, feel up to a bit a sneaking?"

Elena grinned. "Always."

Meanwhile, under the Enigmus table, the three baddies, hefted their weapons of choice and waited patiently.

"Come with me, Dondale," Kushiel whispered. Together, the two ducked under the Lobostro tables directly opposite the three baddies and erected their own identical barricade. Kush raised her voice. "Take your time, Dondale, Waltz. Fire only when you're sure of a target. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Yes, ma'am," Elena echoed before taking off behind the tables to complete her sneak mission.

Crouching down behind the bench, Kush conjured two large piles of brightly colored chalk balls. "I think the profs would take it somewhat amiss if we started actually firing hexes and curses at each other," she muttered in response to her companion's puzzled look. "And this way, they get to have the fun of trying to get it out of their clothes."

"I thought that's what House Elves were for."

"True."

"What are they playing?" Clark asked his colleagues as he and Adante Avarra joined the ever growing group by the doors.

"Battle at the Hexagon."

"Ooh, which one?" They all looked at Avarra, who smiled sheepishly. "Oh, yeh. Right."

Abandoning her sneak mission in favor of projectiles, Elena rejoined them at the barricade and conjured her own pile of missles. "Ready when you are, de Navarre."

"1…2…3!" Grabbing a neon orange chalk ball, she lobbed it across the space, where it exploded in a puff of bright chalk powder. Elowen followed suit a heartbeat later, squinting through the dust to see if she'd hit anything. Elena hurled a magenta chalk ball and skimmed the top of Callum's hair, tinting the tips of the auburn curls a delicate shade of dark pink.

With a savage growl, Cliona joined the battle and let fly her white whiffle ball. Unfortunately, the lightweight missile only fell short. Whining, she looked towards Callum.

He shrugged and launched his own whiffle ball, thunking Kushiel lightly on the head. "Don't worry, Bunny, you'll make it work." He glared at Elena as the chalk ball skimmed him, reaching down to pull out the bigger guns.

"Whiffle balls?" Kraven muttered. "If they start throwing lingerie at each other, that's it, they're expelled."

Sachiko giggled helplessly.

The first volley done, Elena dusted off her hands. "Cover me."

"With what? Chocolate?"

"Kush!"

"No, that's only for Artanus."

"Elowen!"

The southern belle snickered wickedly.

"Ow!" She frowned as another whiffle ball bounced off her head. "Again!" She hurled a gold chalk ball that thudded directly into Carriegan's left shoulder.

"I guess we should really say the names of the spells, huh," Callum mused. He took aim at Elena, dipping his wand into a conjured can of paint and flicking a spray of red paint at her.

"Ow!" Carriegan scowled and sent a line of green paint zinging across the room in retaliation.

"Paint? Oh, Mim save us all," Robin groaned, leaning her head against Clark's shoulder.

Grabbing two blue balls, Elowen threw them with all her might, one of them crashing into the barrier and the other clipping Callum across the cheek. "Ha!"

"What the bloody hell!" Growling, Callum sent a gob of blue paint flying towards Elowen, splattering it against her hair.

Meanwhile, Elena stuffed chalk balls into her pockets and started slowly creeping towards the Parador tables, hoping none of the evil baddies would notice. For the moment, she was safe, but she went as silently as she could.

"Where is Miss Waltz?" Elowen asked in a low murmur, crossing her eyes as a spatter of pink landed on her nose. She hurled another chalk ball in reply, creating a bright yellow ring in the middle of Carriegan's forehead.

"Hear that?" Cliona immediately began scanning through the hall for the AWOL guardswoman. Spotting her, she sent a line of hideous yellow streaking through the air just as Callum sent a line of purple at Kushiel.

"Damn it!" Flicking her wand, Elena desperately tried to conjure a barricade to protect her from the missile, thudding to the floor and feeling the paint hit with a wet, heavy squelch against the lower legs of her jeans.

Kushiel knelt and started piling balls into the crook of her left arm. "Dondale, desperate times call for desperate measures. I'm going to check on Waltz. You stay here and defend the fort, you got that?"

She paled with fear, but nodded resolutely. "Yes, ma'am. I'll keep it here."

In a grand gesture, the redhead leapt to her feet and took off down the length of the hall, pelting the Enigmus barricade and those behind it with chalk balls until she could dive behind the hastily created Parador with Elena. She dropped the balls and put a hand on her friend's ankle. "How is it, Waltz?"

She looked up wearily, her arms trembling as she readied another chalk bomb. Working for the Secretary was, after all, a dangerous job. She'd always known to expect it. "I've been better," she reported with a wry grin and a grimace. "I think my right leg took the brunt of it."

Looking down at the leg in question, Kushiel transfigured two handkerchiefs from napkins and bound them tightly over the leg like a bandage, tying a neat knot. "That will have to do until medics get here. Here." She unhooked the flask of cocoa moo from her belt and held it out. "Drink, it will help." Sighing, she shook her head. "Merlin, the two of us alone with a rookie. Where the hell are our reinforcements? And who are those women anyway?"

Callum grumbled as he dipped his wand into a can of green paint. "Women, indeed. Women, my arse!"

"Shush, you," Cli hissed, elbowing him.

"Yeh, Callum, play along like a good little girl."

He glared at Carriegan, but merely sent the paint flying towards Elowen.

The southern belle ducked behind the bench, hearing it hit the wood, and thought quickly. Her face nearly pressed into the floor, she gradually heard the fire start to concentrate solely on the two senior SWAT members. Making a decision, she would just have to face the court martial later, she grabbed the pile of chalk balls and started heading underneath the Lobostro tables, all the way down to the end. Crossing quickly past the Enigmus tables, she found shelter underneath Colubrae and started sneaking up just as silently until she was staring directly at the backs of Persephone and her minions. "For justice!" she cried, pelting Cliona, Callum, and Carriegan with chalk balls until she could barely breathe from all the dust rising.

"What the-! Damn rookie!" Elena yelled, propping herself up on elbow so she could help continue the impromptu barrage. Her aim was off terribly, but a few managed to find their way in.

Following Elena's gaze, Kushiel swore and started muttering under her breath about insubordinate rookies and glory-seeking yahoos. "Dondale, you should have been in Parador! Now get the hell back to the barricade!"

"I think I should take offense at that," Polonius stated mildly from the knot of faculty and staff.

"I know you should," Kraven muttered.

Coughing from the dust, knowing she couldn't be seen, Elowen nodded and started crawling underneath the tables.

"Oh, no you don't." Callum spotted the Lobostro girl about to escape. Squinting, he grabbed the pot of green paint and hurled it at her, hitting her squarely. He grabbed his minions' paint pots and hurled them at Kush and Elena, wiping off his hands and growling savagely under his breath. "Utterly ridiculous."

Elowen crumpled to the floor, her entire back awash with green paint. "I'm sorry, ma'am! I tried!"

"Dondale!" Kushiel threw herself over Elena, taking them both level with the floor, and the paint cans sailed over them, only lightly flecking them with paint. "Rookie!" A murderous gleam in her eye, she hefted her last missile with consideration. "Right back at ya, lefty." The ball almost fell from her hand as her eyes widened hugely, and she stared at Elena. "Lefty! You don't suppose-"

"No, it can't be…"

"It has to be," the redhead refuted grimly. "They said they needed to see the Secretary." She pulled an old fashioned silver lighter from her pocket, flipping back the top and lighting it. "Where is our gorram backup? Persephone is right here in the entrance to the Secretary's wing! I repeat, Persephone is right here in the Secretary's wing! We have a man-er, girl..um, agent down!"

"Having confusion on gender, are we?" Robin giggled from the wall.

"They'd better get here soon." Elena fired another ball to keep Callum and the girls pinned down. "How are we ever going to get to Dondale?"

Kushiel shook her head, conjuring another two buckets, these full of cloth balls dripping with wet paint. "You're in no condition to move, Waltz, and we may be too late for Dondale."

Callum looked up quickly, having heard his-well, Her, but his…having heard Persephone's name. Hurling Cli over one shoulder and grabbing Carriegan's elbow with the other hand, he made a mad dash for the entryway.

"Cli, your boyfriend in manhandling me again."

"Gorram it, I can run for myself!" Cliona bellowed indignantly, striking Callum on the chest and shoulders until he let her go. Grinning briefly, she started running in an exaggeratedly serpentine fashion.

"Oh, damn it!" Elena cried.

"They're running! Waltz, use everything you have, just don't let them get away!" Kushiel grabbed one of the buckets and leapt up on top of the table, using her wand to hurl the missiles with deadly accuracy against Callum and the two girls. "They can't get away!"

Mimicking Cli's odd movements, Callum was able to evade most of the balls, but when one hit him low on the leg (in a disgusting shade of orange), he stopped and turned to the two remaining SWAT girls expectantly. His girlfriend stopped beside him. "Oh, no, my Mas-my Mis-…" She scowled and squinched her eyes shut. "You're hit!"

Glaring fiercely, Kushiel selected a ball in royal purple and threw it, eyes widening as it hit the British apprentice squarely in the face. "Whoops?" Trying heroically not to crack up, she brandished her wand at them, holding a dripping lime green ball in the other. "Give it up, Persephone!"

Callum's jaw tightened and he leaned down to wipe some of the paint off his trouser' leg, succeeding only in smearing it. "This is bloody stupid." He scraped most of the paint from his eyes and glared.

Elena sat up, giggling slightly, and aimed her wand. "Give it up, Persephone," she echoed. "It's over. You're coming with us."

Both of her lips disappeared between her teeth as Cliona gently touched her boyfriend on the shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Kushiel lowered both wand and paint ball. "Uh, Callum? I don't really think Persephone would say that." She scowled suddenly. "And why are you still alive anyway? Your face just got blown off!"

Elena snickered into her hand. "Perhaps the mask was simply damaged?"

Giving Kush a final death look, Callum whirled around and planted a large, purple kiss on Cliona. "I'm fine, Bunny. A bit colourful, but fine."

Carriegan snorted, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping one foot. "If Persephone goes round kissing her minions, that's it, I'm de-minionizing myself."

"Is that like de-unionizing yourself?" Elowen asked with a grin.

Kushiel made a face. "Oh, come on, Callum! She definitely wouldn't do that!"

"I dunno, it's one way to inspire loyalty," Elena quipped.

"So how do you inspire loyalty, Clark?" Kraven asked in a low whisper, and Clark cringed slightly.

The redhead hefted the paint ball once more. "Well, Callum? What's it going to be?"

"I'm pretty sure you just said my head had been blown off," he pointed out reasonably. "So my head already asploded." Smirking, he took Cli's hand in his. "So I guess you win."

"Coward," Carriegan sighed.

"We won?"

"I guess we did," Elena agreed, getting to her feet and walking over towards Elowen.

"Oh. Well. Okay," Kushiel sighed, face falling. Looking down at the paint ball in her hand, she grinned and hurled it at Callum purely for the principle of the thing.

Fortunately, and unfortunately, Callum gave into instinct, and pulled Cliona in front of him before the missile could hit its mark. Cliona blinked it shock, feeling the wet paint spread across her chest, jaw working at forming words that just weren't coming.

"Wow…." Elena whispered, helping Elowen to stand up. "Who knew a game could bring out the unchivalrous side of Callum?"

Kushiel's mouth fell open and she pointed at him incredulously. "He just killed Spades!"

The lone boy stared, knowing he was going to pay dearly for that mistake.

The redhead kept shaking her head, absolutely stunned. "Havoc, he just killed you!"

"What the hell was that?" Cliona finally sputtered, punching him hard in the left arm. "I'm your girl-…I'm your frien-…I'M NOT YOUR SISTER!"

"I should certainly hope not," Carriegan quipped. "There are laws about that sort of thing, you know."

"I can't believe you sacrificed your girlfriend," Elena accused. "You bastard! What kind of boyfriend are you?"

Kushiel only snickered, climbing down off the table. "Oh, like he'd ever have the nerve to do that to Heidi."

"You could have just dodged!"

He smiled very slightly, watching Elena and Kushiel pull out their wands to start cleaning up the paint. "I'll try to remember that for next time. Not that there'll be a next time," he added a little bit louder.

"Oh, there'll be a next time," Carriegan disagreed, levitating all the chalk dust and spilling it gracefully into Callum's hair. "After all, he's the only southpaw in the group."

"Besides," Kushiel continued helpfully. "He needs to practice those chivalrous instincts. Clearly, they require a great deal of work and attention."

He rolled his eyes. "My southpaw will stick to piano, thank you very much. And as for my chivalrous instincts, they'd be just fine if it weren't for you, Kushiel de Navarre."

Elena chuckled, shaking her head. "You're wrong, Callum. Strife has done you an immense service. Without her intervention, we would never have known that your chivalry contains gaps."

"I'm not the one who made you grab your girlfriend as a human shield, Mister Sleipak," Kush pointed out. "I merely presented you with the opportunity in which your lack of chivalry chose to shine." She carefully scraped a drying streak of pink paint from her fingernail. "Therefore you cannot blame your mess on me."

"Shall we adjourn to somewhere else?" Elowen asked.

"May I bring him?" Cliona asked, bringing Callum's knuckles to her lips.

"Only if he's house-trained," Kush answered dismissively, not even looking up. "The elves just laid down new carpet."

"I absolutely adore it when you all talk about me like I'm not even here," Callum mumbled.

Kushiel gave him a pointed look. "Cliona, tell your boy to stop whining. He really should become accustomed to the fact that he's surrounded by girls."

"I think he's accustomed enough," Cliona replied with a laugh, sticking her tongue out at her friend. "You could at least call him by his name."

She blinked owlishly. "Your boy has a name?"

"Never mind," the werewolves sighed in unison.

"You shouldn't play games that make light of what's actually happening," Clark told them with a frown, pushing off the wall to come closer to them. The other students and Callum looked at him with puzzled expressions, but Kushiel merely regarded him expressionlessly. "People are getting hurt and killed by this woman. Treat their deaths with respect."

Kushiel and Cliona shared a long look. Nodding almost imperceptibly, Cliona slid her arms around Carriegan and Elena. "Come on, guys," she said loudly. "Let's go root around for the tent. This weekend is the annual campout. Kush, catch up when you can."

Bemused, the redhead watched all of her friends walk out of the great hall before turning her attention back to the Headmaster. "So she's found another one, then."

"What?"

"If you weren't worried from a new report, you wouldn't be taking this so seriously. If she didn't have someone new, if she wasn't trying something new, you would remember that this is a game, just like any other game we play, and that it is a harmless way to blow off steam. Far more people were killed in the two rises of Voldemort across the pond, but you've never chastised us for playing Battle at the Ministry."

"Some of these are people we know."

Kraven sighed and shook his head. Wrong thing to say, Clark.

Vivid green eyes turned frosty, so hard and cold that two emeralds might as well have been staring at the leader of the Dark Hunters. "One of my best friends, my first sweetheart, my first kiss, was killed by Voldemort's stooges. His name was Henri Beaupard. John Grandison, Guy's father is still off on a mission of vengeance, sworn not to return until the last Death Eater lies dead. These are people I know. It is just a goddamn game."

"Kush…"

"No, sir," she refuted, frowning still deeper at her Head's attempted intervention. "I understand the fear, the panic, the caution, the concern. I do. But this is ridiculous. I am sick of being the whipping boy every time some bad news comes in. We are in a war, however odd the context of the fights, and bad news is a given. I am sorry if the game ruffled your feathers, Headmaster, but it is still just a game. It is no different than Battle at the Ministry, or Princess and the Dragon, or Rescue the Peasants From Lysander. It's not. However lacking in taste you may find it, it is no different.

"And I think you forget, sir," she went on heatedly, "that we are not exactly bystanders in this. We have all been affected, some more directly than others. We have earned the right to make light of it if we so choose. We are not belittling those she has sent to their deaths; what we are doing is pushing away our own fears. What we are doing is rationalizing the fear and the anger into something healthy. We are not mocking those who have died, nor are we insulting those who have fought. We are just letting off some fucking steam!"

"Kush!"

"No, sir!" She took a deep breath, ignoring the glare from her Head of House. Turning slightly, she turned her gaze upon the school's healer. "Nurse Kayenta, you are still handing out Dreamless Sleep to some students, and it has been two months since the attack here at the school. Nightmares are still stalking among many of the younger students, and no one is doing anything about them. They don't know that Rafael da Lucca won't be sending any more portraits to the school, because no one has bothered to tell them that the painter has been captured. No one will publicize that because they don't want to admit that they caught the painter and not Persephone, so no one knows anything. They are living in fear. How can you blame us for needing to vent a little of that? How can you truly not notice how tense some of our classmates are from worrying about when we'll be attacked next?" Taking another deep breath, she closed her eyes, rubbing strongly across her cheekbones with her fingers. "I still have nightmares," she admitted, and each person listening knew how much it cost her to admit that. "I still see her in my dreams, and she has a face and a name which only makes it all the worse, and she tells me that I'm like her. **I** need this. **I** need to be able to make light of her, so that if it ever comes down to seeing her face to face, I won't be crippled with fear. Because I'll be able to see Callum with green paint all over his face and not be so afraid. It doesn't mean I have any less respect for the damage she can do, and it doesn't mean I have any less caution for how truly dangerous she is. It just means that I've found a way to deal with it, and that you obviously haven't. We can't live our lives in fear. We can't ruin our final year of school with tiptoeing about until we squeak and flinch at passing shadows. Saying her name does not summon her, she doesn't hear what's said on the wind."

A long moment of silence stretched out, and even though her eyes stayed close, she could feel the heavy weight of the Headmaster's gaze. "If you please?" he murmured finally. Without another word, the others filed out of the room, leaving Clark and Kushiel alone. He sat down next to her on the table, his hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees. "Why didn't you tell any of us you were still having nightmares?"

"Would it have made a difference?"

"We wouldn't have allowed you to go that art store, for one thing."

She smiled crookedly, opening her eyes to inspect her interlaced fingers. "That actually helped, so I'm very glad I didn't tell. It helped greatly to put a face and a name to him, to talk to him. I dream of Callia Waylen, not of Rafael da Lucca."

He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "I can't separate them the way that you do," he admitted. "To me, he is simply the painter."

"As he is," she agreed. "That doesn't change the fact that he's behind bars and she isn't. Rafael is no longer a threat. We have to focus on Persephone herself, and on this new person she has."

"I don't know anything about him other than that he's male," he told her grimly. "Dennis refuses to tell us anything, says we don't need to know yet. The government is angry that we got the painter and they didn't. Politics." He snorted derisively. "I heard purely through rumor that there'd been a new attack somewhere and it was obviously not the painter, but nothing more. Dennis says his superiors don't want him calling us in at all, even if it does get out of their hands again."

Sighing, she shook her head. "She'll be angry." Kushiel looked up at him, her eyes haunted. "She'll be angrier than ever now, and she's not going to look for someone who'll be as weak as Rafael. She'll find someone more militant, someone more fueled by rage."

"Someone more dangerous."

"Exactly."

Forgetting for a moment all of the tension that had been sparking between them since early summer, Clark reached out and pulled her against him with one arm, simply holding her. "We'll get Her, Kitten," he murmured against her hair. "I don't know how yet, but we will."

She desperately wanted to believe him, but she wasn't a trusting little first year anymore, and she just wasn't so sure.


	19. He Shoots, She Scores

**Disclaimer: Neither Harry Potter nor Avistrum are mine, I do not claim them. Many of the characters belong to other people, as well; only some of the characters and the story (twisted as it is) belong to me, so no suing.**

_A/N: I will love you forever and ever and ever and ever if you review. _

_A/N2: And I know it's a short chapter, give me a break. They can't all be epics or it would never be finished._

_A/N3: Cli, you SO owe me._

**Chapter Nineteen: He Shoots, She Scores**

"Come on, Carr, come on," Kushiel muttered under her breath, fists clenched against her shivering. The weather for the deciding match of the House Quidditch Tournament was decidedly foul, freezing wind tugging at players and spectators alike, and a stinging rain that was half sleet sliced down, driven by the forceful wind so hard that not even Warming and Repelling Charms could offer any sanctuary. After six hours of play, the Snitch had yet to make an appearance, and while Colubrae was up 970-540 on Parador, the players were beginning to tire. Who knew what could happen if the game continued?

Suddenly, she saw a shape that she was hoping was Carriegan aim dangerously fast for the ground, and indeed, the pale hand even skimmed along the surface of the mud briefly. It took a moment for her to register Professor Ward's voice magically enhanced as it called out over the storm; normally it would be Professor Bloodthorne as the referee and Coach, but the other teachers had protested since Colubrae was in the match. "And Carriegan Chantrea has caught the Snitch! That gives the win to Colubrae, at one thousand twenty points to Parador's five hundred forty!"

A huge cheer rang out from the Colubrae stands, nearly matched by the groans of the Parador section. Moments later, Cliona and Callum made their way over from the Enigmus section. "Party in your common room?" Cliona yelled over the noise.

"As soon as everyone gets cleaned up, yeh!" she cried back, despite only being a few inches away.

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And it was indeed one hell of a party. After hot showers and a change of clothes, even the weary team members found the energy to fully enjoy themselves. Green and silver was everywhere, even on the select few guests from other houses in recognition. Aurelia couldn't quite bring herself to wear her rival's colors, but her black shirt did sport red and gold embroidered Chinese dragons, which the others grudgingly allowed to pass muster.

Helped by the house elves, the handful of tables had been pressed together along one wall, groaning under the weight of food and drink. After tasting the punch, Sabina judiciously added in a rather large amount of homemade potato juice, severely threatening the younger years if they went anywhere near it. The terrified youngsters stuck to the sodas, butterbeer, and pumpkin juice after that. Hot food, cold food, finger food, it was all there, and as soon as one dish emptied, another appeared in its place.

Music blared out from an ordinary muggle boombox charmed to play on magic rather than batteries. There really wasn't any set pattern to the music that played out from it, a bizarre mix of magical and mundane. After a while, though, one got used to the odd jumps from the Weird Sisters to Enya remixes to Merlin's Knoll to Three Days Grace.

Carriegan was the hero of the hour, and she basked in the attention. The rest of the team was no less adored, but then, there was always something special for the Seeker. No matter how many points the rest of the team earns or prevents, the game isn't over until the Snitch is caught, and it's up to the Seeker to decide whether to catch it or just keep the other person from grabbing it to get the points to a better position. To make things even better, she'd been approached after the game by a representative of the Jersey Jabberwocks; they were interested in recruiting her professionally.

There were two people in the Colubrae Common Room, however, who were not thinking all that much about the impressive victory. For Cliona McCullough and Callum Sleipak, there was something a little more pressing in mind: hormones.

Bevin McCullough would have sighed to see her daughter in such a state, but then, wolves are rather more pragmatic than people when it comes to sex. In short, Cliona was frustrated. She and Callum had driven each other near insane with increasingly heated kisses and caresses, including one session that had left her with the feeling that she'd blown a gasket, but still the frustration remained. She knew, in the rational and intelligent part of her mind, that it was an aspect of being a werewolf in heat, in the company of a male werewolf of compatible age and personality.

But bugger it all, she was horny!

Growling deep in her throat, she stalked towards her redheaded best friend and pulled her a short distance away from the seventh year Lobostro boy she was considering playing with. "Can I use your bathroom?"

Emerald eyes regarded her with confusion. "Cli, why the hell would you feel the need to ask me that? Of course you can use the bathroom."

"I'm taking Callum with me."

"Oh." Kushiel cocked her head to one side thoughtfully. "You're welcome to my bed, if you like. Just have the house elves change the sheets when you're done."

Cliona blinked and, not trusting her voice, walked abruptly away. Kushiel watched for a moment longer before returning to the lap of the Lobostro boy, her fingers curling through the fine hair at the nape of his neck as she talked to Carriegan.

Callum was startled when his girlfriend grabbed his arm and dragged her along behind him, but thinking of the episode in the stacks of the library, he certainly wasn't about to argue. They didn't make it quite as far as the bathroom, though. Her shaggy brown hair was up in a ponytail, and the back of her neck was just proving too, too tempting. He dug in his heels and pulled her to him in the empty hallway leading to the seventh year girls' dorm, safely out of view of the rest of the party by twists and turns in the dungeon corridor. He bit her gently, feeling her melt back against him, and suddenly, she was turned around and kissing him hungrily.

She moaned as he pushed her roughly back against the wall, his hands teasing at the hem of her skirt, flirting so close to where she actually needed him. Sliding a hand through his auburn curls, she pulled him even closer, their bodies almost forming a seamless line where their clothing met.

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An hour later, Kushiel looked up to see the pair walk back into the party, thoroughly disheveled and, at least in Cliona's case, walking a little oddly. She quirked an eyebrow and slid off the lap of her Lobostro boy to pull Cliona aside. "In need of a pain potion are we?" she asked softly, barely audible over the music and loud conversation.

"Uh-huh," her friend replied with a goofy grin. "The wall was kind of hard."

"Cli….how far did you guys go that you need this? You cannot seriously tell me he's been fingering you for the past hour."

Brown eyes blinked. "Oh, no. We-uh…well…."

Both eyebrows rose this time. "You popped your cherry up against the dungeon wall?" she demanded incredulously, mindful to keep her voice low. "Why didn't you use the bloody bed!"

"We were a little too impatient," the girl replied, flushing hotly.

"Did you use protection?"

Gasping, Cliona's hand flew to cover her mouth, regarding her friend with horrified eyes.

"I'll take that as a no," the Colubrae sighed. "Well, you were both virgins, so I daresay you're safe from diseases, but you'll need to have Elena steal you a Morning After potion from the infirmary. You can't rely on that every time, though," she cautioned strongly. "It's only for emergencies. Next time, think a very little bit with your head before you let all the blood go to your clit."

"Kush!"

"Well?"

They both looked up at the sudden and drastic drop in volume. All conversation had ceased, the music still blaring incongruously, and they turned to see Professor Bloodthorne standing in the portrait hole, arms folded over his chest. It didn't escape their notice that at one in the morning, he was still in his teaching robes, but they certainly weren't going to comment on it. Not with the glare that was smoking from his dark eyes.

"Someone turn that thing off," he snapped, and one of the second years nearly broke his wand smacking it over the boom box. The silence was deafeningly loud. "I am just as happy as you that we won, but it is one in the morning. Curfew was three hours ago. To bed. Now." He scowled and eyed the students from other houses. "And I am not writing anyone excuses should they be caught in the hallways."

"Don't forget to talk to Elena on your way back," Kushiel hissed in her friend's ear as the thirty or so non-Colubraes gathered up to head out.

"I won't."

Carriegan and Kushiel took charge of ushering their own house off to bed, summoning elves to take away the food and garbage. They had just gotten everything taken care of and were about to find their own beds when the alarms went off. Staring at each other, they raced from the Common Room, casting enough charms and spells over the anxious portrait of Caterina Colubrae to ensure that nothing would come in and out. They raced towards the entrance hall, only to be stopped by the gaggle of non-Colubraes that had been at the party.

"What's going on?" they demanded in unison of Cliona.

She merely pointed.

Thrusting their way through the group, the pair came to the front and stopped short, their eyes going wide. "Carr, we need to get them away," Kushiel said lowly. "We need to get them away NOW."

"Back to the Common Room?"

"Or any other room you can safely and strongly ward."

"What about you?"

"I'll wait for the professors."

Carriegan wasn't sure that was at all the best course to take, but she could definitely see that they needed to be out of the way. "Charms is closest, we'll go there."

"That's fine."

As she heard the muffled sounds of the early retreat, Kushiel kept her wand out and her eyes riveted on the creatures pacing the hallway, coming slowly towards the students. If they had a name, she didn't know what it was, and had never seen anything like them before. They were an odd conglomeration of creatures, with the elongated, sharp tipped muzzle of a fox, the flattened triangular skull and ears of a sleek hunting cat, and a wide, boned ruff that wouldn't have been out of place on an Elizabethan portrait. Their bodies seemed mostly feline, blood red talons curving out from paws, but they didn't look retractable at all, and the long tail, twice again the length of the sinuous body, was spined and tipped in a multi-pronged spike. Red eyes gleamed from amidst the black face, but it was an indefinable black, a mutable black. It shifted with the many different colors of darkness and the moving absence and dampening of light. Along its spine, shadows poured from its thick fur, tumbling down to swirl about its paws and onto the stones itself, the shadows forming into seeking tendrils that stalked before them.

She heard a savagely bit off curse from behind her. "What is it, Carr?"

"There's more behind us."

"Well, shit." She regarded the creatures with a growing sense of dread, but remained outwardly calm. "Anyone who knows strong defensive spells and hasn't had too much of Sabina's punch, stay standing," she ordered, backing up until she met the jumble of bodies. "Anyone who doesn't fit into both of those categories, kneel down so you aren't as much of a target."

The only sounds as she was obeyed was the rustle of clothing and the slow, steady click of the creatures' talons on the stone. "Carr, how many on your side?"

"Three."

"And there's five over here…do you think these are all?"

"Hera, I hope so," the metamorphmagus answered fervently.

The redhead glanced down and realized with some surprise that she was actually wearing the onyx ankh the Headmaster had given her for Christmas. She so very rarely wore it, and usually only grabbed it when she needed something to fidget with during class. She wrapped her hand about the cold onyx, still keeping her voice soft. She didn't want the twisted little kitties to do anything sudden. "Sir, can you hear me?"

"Not now, Kushiel, we're trying to turn off the alarms," came the snippy reply.

"Well, the reason the alarms are going off is right in front of us."

"And behind us," Carriegan added in a murmur.

"And behind us," Kushiel agreed.

There was a short silence. "What is it?"

"Creatures of some sort," she reported. "I've never seen them before."

"Where are you?"

"Dungeon side of the entrance hall, with about thirty others."

"Dammit. We'll be there."

A first year tugged on Kushiel's free hand, and as the older girl looked down, she couldn't for the life of her think why a first year from another house would have been invited. "Are we gonna die?" The twelve year old girl asked quietly.

"No, Tisha," Carriegan answered for her, and Kushiel recognized the name. Tisha Havern, younger sister of Devryn Havern, one of Colubrae's Beaters. "We're not going to die. Now hush."

Holding onto Callum's right hand so hard it hurt, Cliona nonetheless held her wand in a steady hand. "I knew it," she murmured. "I knew the world would come to an end if I had sex before marriage."

"Bunny, that's hardly the reason-"

"Callum, shush, I'm busy blaming myself."

"How many creatures, Kush?" Clark's voice came crackling through the ankh again.

"Eight that we can see."

His sigh was audible. "When the alarms went off, the Paradors and Lobostros came out of their dorms to see what was going on. There are ten of the creatures at each of the dorms. Sachiko and Adante are at Lobostro, and Polonius is at Parador. They're going to need help, as well."

Understanding what he wasn't saying, she resisted, barely, the urge to swear at him. "Just get here soon, sir. We'll try to hold them off until then."

"Try to hold them off?" Carriegan echoed indignantly. "Try to hold them off? They're our professors! Their job is to protect us, and they want us to fend for themselves."

But Carriegan had only heard Kushiel's side of the conversation, and the redhead shook her head, filling her in the rest of it. "We're older students," she added on aftwerwards. "We can defend ourselves if need be, and he knows that. But all the younger students are spilled out of their dorms in those two houses. You think a first year could know something against one of these things?"

"What are these things, anyway?" Cliona asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste. She was very good of Care of Magical Beasts, but she didn't recognize them more than anybody else.

"Cli, red eyes are usually a sign of albinism, aren't they?"

"Either that or a pissed off Carriegan."

Ignoring the attempt at levity, Kushiel worried her lower lip pensievely between her teeth. "Albinos are incredibly sensitive to light, because their eyes are weak. Do you suppose-"

"They're not white."

"Now, Cli, this is no time to be racist," Carriegan quipped.

"I'm just thinking their eyes, Spades."

"It's worth a try, I suppose," Cliona answered doubtfully. "Then again, at this point, nearly everything is worth a try."

"Solaris?" Carriegan asked.

"It's what I was thinking. Everyone on the outside, on the count of three. One…two…three!"

Eleven voices incanted _Solaris_ at once, summoning a blinding white light as a shield around them. The creatures snarled, their voices the same weird amalgam as the rest of them, and backed some short distance away.

"Do we press towards them?"

"In two directions?" Their unofficial captain shook her head. "No, we're not splitting into smaller numbers. We just have to bide our time until the professors get here."

"Whenever that is."

"I suppose it just depends on how stupid the Paradorks are being."

"Hey!" Aurelia twisted around in her position to glare at them. "That's not nice."

"So?" The two Colubrae girls looked at each other and smirked.

Each time the creatures came closer, they fired off another burst of sunlight, but it was Cliona who noticed a rather big fact; it was accomplishing less each time. Either they were getting used to the light or they were simply sticking through the pain, but they were backing off less each time and were much quicker to recover. She pointed it out to the other two girls, who shared a worried glance.

"Pick the target closest to being in front of you," Kushiel sighed to the students on the outer rim. "Remember, no Dark spells; if this is a Dark creature, they'll simply absorb it."

"We're not supposed to know Dark spells anyway," Gwen muttered.

"What we're supposed to know and what we do know don't always match up exactly," the redhead told her lightly, keeping an eye on all the creatures on her side. She chose the one closest to her wall and aimed. "Whenever you're ready."

A few seconds later, a variety of hexes and curses rang out through the hallway, most of them finding their marks, but the range of effectiveness was limited. They released another volley, but they could all see that it wouldn't be more than a few minutes before the creatures were on them, even with their slow paces.

"I don't suppose we'll be lucky enough that they'll be that slow in their attacks?" Carriegan sighed.

"Sweetie, when are we ever that lucky?"

The metamorph glanced down at her hands, eyes lighting up at the plain kitchen knife in her hand. "Well, maybe this will work better."

"A kitchen knife?" But a precious few moments of concentration and a complicated wand motion later, a long, thin foil rested in Carriegan's hand. Kushiel eyed it calmly, starting to feel past the point of surprises. "You're right, that may work better."

"Too bad we don't have-" She stopped as Kushiel grimaced. "What is it?"

"Well, we've got another sword we can use," she admitted. "It'll just take me a minute to get it."

"What do you mean?"

"Hold, please." The redhead passed her wand to Cliona, who grasped it with her own, and pulled her long braid over one shoulder, revealing her bare back and tattoo. "I told you guys there were defensive pieces spelled into this." Reaching back, she brushed her fingers against the hilt of the dagger, and for a bizarre moment, her fingers almost seemed to sink into her skin. Then the feeling passed and she was pulling her hand away from her back, a real version of the dagger coming away with her. They could still see the lines of the image on her skin, for all that they were beginning to issue forth a thin, steady stream of blood. With the dagger in hand, she took her wand back from Cli and transfigured it into a full sword, thinner and lighter than any broadsword, but with nearly the reach.

"Sweet Nimue," Carriegan breathed. "No wonder the women in your family are so cool."

"Why are you bleeding?" Cliona asked in concern.

"Spades, I just pulled a sword out of my frickin back, of course I'm going to be bleeding." Her skin had paled dramatically, a somewhat alarming shade of white, and her fingers clenched repeatedly about the silver hilt. "Sorry, I shouldn't be snapping. It just hurts. A lot."

Short of transfiguring clothing, however, which due to its softness didn't make for a very good sword, there was none other to be had.

"Bloody hell," Callum groaned. "At least at Hogwarts we could have grabbed axes from the suits of armor."

"Do the best you can, guys," Kushiel told them, taking a deep breath.

Then the creatures were on them.

They were all speed and fluidity, sweeping around faster than the eye could follow. The outer students continued the ineffective hexes, trying to chip away at them, and Carriegan and Kushiel nearly danced with the altered felines, swords gleaming silver in the light from the entrance hall. They, at least, seemed to have more luck; when they could get a hit, the creatures still bled. They could hear cries from their fellow students, though; injuries were being sustained.

"Tisha!"

Daring a heartbeat's look, Kushiel saw the first year lying across Elena's lap, her throat nearly torn out by claws, and the infirmary assistant desperately trying one of her many healing charms. She winced, feeling claws score deeply along her side, and swept back with the sword, feeling it connect into flesh. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes, though it felt like hours, until they heard the heavy footfalls of running coming closer to them.

"That's not more of the creatures," Carriegan pointed out, stabbing one of the beasts through the eye with her fencing foil.

"So long as it's not their owners, I don't care," Kushiel retorted, lopping off one of the tails before it could crash against a fourth year's head. Giving a look only while adjusting her bloody grip on her sword, she felt her heart leap at seeing the professors nearly flying towards them, Excalibur glowing in the Headmaster's hands. They were all similarly armed with swords, even the petite Professor Kobiyashi. "They're here!"

"_Lumos Maximus_!" Callum cried, briefly blinding them all, but the creatures whimpered and backpedaled, some going straight into the clutches of the professors.

"Is that actually a spell?" Cliona muttered.

"It is now," her boyfriend answered, rather shaken.

With the Dark Hunters taking on the three surviving on her side, Kushiel joined Carriegan in cutting down the final one on the other. The squeals from the beasts being butchered on the other side grated at their frayed nerves, but they gritted their teeth and ignored it as best they could. Kushiel stole the handkerchief that was always in Callum's pocket and wiped off her sword, cleaning the blade until it gleamed.

"Is now really the time to be doing that?" her friend asked her in some exasperation.

"I can't very well put it back dirty," she shot back. "Then I'd have blotches of dried blood in the tattoo, and that's nasty."

"Is everyone okay?" Clark asked, coming up to them quickly.

"No."

He looked at the redhead sharply, and she mutely pointed to Tisha. Elena was sobbing softly over the girl's body, her hands bloody from where she'd tried to manually staunch the gush of blood from the first year's throat. "I couldn't save her, sir," she wept. "It was just too much, and she didn't have enough time!"

"How are the rest of you?" Kraven demanded, pushing past the tragedy for the moment to focus on the living.

"Injured, but I think we'll all live," came Callum's low reply. He finally turned his back on the three dead beasts and gave a hurried professional look over. "We need to get some of them to the infirmary now, though."

Despite the valiant efforts of the outer ring of students, the beasts had been too fast and too intelligent, wreaking havoc in the inside of the circle. Tisha was the only one dead, but there were others who were dangerously close.

"Anyone who can safely carry, grab someone," their makeshift captain ordered. "Callum, Elena, tell us who needs to be carried level and who can be carried singly."

With the help of the professors, they picked up the seven that needed the most help, Callum carrying Tisha as the others limped along with the aid of their fellow students. The infirmary was already a zoo, though not nearly so badly as when the paintings had arrived in December. Thank Merlin for small mercies. Kushiel sat down on the edge of one of the cots, exhausted past her ability to explain, and just watched as the worst of the wounds were patched up by the four healers, Ginny and Robin creating small islands of calm around them. She was joined by the Dark Hunters, keeping out of the way of what they couldn't help.

"Are you all right?" Tyler asked her in a low voice.

"I'll live." She smiled briefly up into his blue eyes. "I've a couple of claw marks on me, but I'll manage."

"Then why is your back covered in blood?"

She glanced down at the sword in her hand, almost surprised to see herself still carrying it. "Oh." Pulling her wand back out, she focused carefully and refigured the sword into the original dagger. She took a deep breath, steadying herself against the wash of pain she knew she would feel, and brought the blade against her bloody back, feeling the metal sink into the skin and vanish in cold flares of agony. Brushing her fingers across the skin to make sure it was all level, she opened her eyes and let out the ragged breath. "There's a price for some defenses," she explained.

Their eyes were wide, and even Kraven hadn't known that piece of it, though he'd been told some of the other aspects to the family tradition. "Why is it bleeding?" her Head inquired sharply.

"It's the price for using the blade," she shrugged. "Now that it's back, it'll stop bleeding in a second."

"What happened exactly?" Clark busied himself with cleaning off Excalibur, watching the progress of the healers with a worried eye.

"After Professor Bloodthorne came to break up the party, we ushered everyone else either out or to bed, and then we heard the alarms go off," she reported. "We sealed the common room and went to find out what it was, because the others hadn't been gone more than a few minutes, not nearly long enough to get back to their dorms. At the entrance hall, we saw five of the things coming towards us, and when we went to hide in the Charms classroom, suddenly there were three more behind us. What were those things, anyway?"

Tyler shook his head, his normally amused face grim. "Shadowvines," he told her. "A relatively new breed, only seen in the last ten years or so. We can't prove that it's connected to Persephone, but She's certainly used them before."

"Shadowvines," she repeated in a whisper. "We tried to hold them off," she continued after a thoughtful pause, "but the buggers are fast."

"And Tisha?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "I heard Elena cry out Tisha's name, and when I looked, she was already lying across her lap with her throat-" She stopped there, unwilling to finish the sentence. Tyler sat next to her, putting an arm about her in spite of the blood, and she rested her head gratefully against his shoulder. "Did anyone else die?" She kept her voice low so no other student could possibly hear her.

"No, thank Merlin, though Robin says Brandon Parker may never walk again."

She winced. Brandon, a Lobostro third year, was known for his love of hiking and racing.

Callum came up to them, other people's blood splattered across his face and clothing. "Kush? Cli said you were hurt."

"My side," she told him, lifting her right arm to give him better access. Four claw marks slashed deep lines around the curve of her side, sweeping from just under her breast in the front to her hip in the back.

"You've got one on your left arm, too, mein kinde," Tyler informed her, a trace of his normal good will suffusing his gaze.

"Oh, right. And I might have one on my right leg, I'm not sure."

"How can you not be sure?" Callum grumbled, already kneeling down to check.

"Adrenaline," she retorted, resisting the urge to kick him.

"It's just a glancing blow down here," he announced, cleaning and sealing it with magic. He treated the ones on her arm in the same manner, though he wound a bandage around those as well; they were just deep enough that they didn't seal completely. He stood and regarded her for a second, then reached out and wordlessly repositioned her against Professor Ward, leaning her more against the man so he could reach around her.

"Pushy, pushy," she teased half-heartedly, lifting her shirt and tucking it into the underwire of her bra so it didn't fall into his efforts. She hissed as he cleaned the wounds, damn that stung, and healed them halfway with magic. For the rest of it, he fetched a greasy salve and slathered it liberally along the marks, winding the bandage tightly about her entire abdomen after cleaning off her fiercely aching back. "How are the others?" she asked him as he worked.

"Cliona is fine, Carriegan got a swipe across the back and a bite on the leg; Nurse Kayenta said cleaning the bite will be rather painful, but they need to make sure the shadowvines weren't in their toxic phase."

"They have a toxic phase?"

"Moon cycle," Tyler explained. "Females of nearly every other species bleed; shadowvines get poison in their fangs during their period."

"Joy."

"Elena's a bit shell-shocked," the British healer continued, tying off the tight knot. "I think Nurse Kayenta is going to keep her here just to keep her busy until she can deal with it a little bit better. Everyone's going to recover, though, that's what's important."

"Callum," Ginny called. "I need you here."

"Have fun," he told her with grim humor, heading back across the infirmary.

"Clark, how did they get in?" Sachiko wanted to know.

The Headmaster shook his head, no more able to answer that than she herself.

"How did the paintings get in?" Kushiel shrugged. "It's the same way."

"Yes, but-"

"Haddi."

Clark stared at her, eyes narrowed. "It can't be Haddi, Kush. I've given orders that he be run off if he's seen."

"It doesn't mean it's not him," she refuted calmly, fighting back a yawn from the healing. The wounds still ached fiercely, but she supposed there wasn't enough pain potion for everyone. "I've been thinking about this," she continued slowly, unwilling to reveal that she'd actually called Haddi into the school. "Did he make his oaths to Avisturm?"

"What?"

"When he was hired, did he actually make his oaths to Avistrum?"

"Well, yes, of course," Clark answered. "He made the oaths in blood."

"Did he make them to Avsitrum or to you?"

"Well, to Avistrum. Kush, where are you going with all this?"

"Haddi made his oaths to the school, not to you, so if he firmly believes that what his Mistress is doing is for the best for everyone then in his mind, he is doing his best by the school, which allows him continued access. He has to punish himself for disobeying the Headmaster, but he can still come and go as he pleases, and there isn't a way to stop him. Because he made his oath to the school, and not to you, only the school can release him, and I don't see the building talking anytime soon to let the elf know this. There's no way to stop Haddi from coming in and bringing his friends with him."

"So what can we do?" Sachiko gasped.

She shrugged again, resting her head against Tyler's chest. "Rearrange the wards to include all manner of dark beasties. Haddi can still get in, but he won't be able to bring his critters with him. That's really all you can do."

"What's to stop him from bringing Her into the school?"

"Probably her own disinclination to involve herself so directly," she answered.

"You're not scared of Her anymore, are you, Kushiel?"

She looked up at her musing Head of House. "No, sir, not really. Why?"

"You don't hesitate before saying "her" as everyone else does."

"She has a face and a name. I'll give her the respect and caution that her danger deserves, but not my fear. That's giving her too much."

A scowling Fineus walked into the infirmary, tugging on Clark's sleeve. "Dennis Andrews is here," he announced with a snarl.

"Send him in here."

"Clark-"

"No. Let him see what he's doing by not allowing us to have the information we need."

Sachiko subsided and Fineus ran off to do as he was bid.

"Why is it that as soon as someone enters the government, their brains blow out their ass?"

"Kush!" Tyler shook with suppressed laughter, and she winced as it joggled her side.

It wasn't long before the sandy haired SWAT man stalked into the infirmary. He stopped short, the furious expression on his face turning to one of astonishment. "What the hell happened here?"

"We called the number for the wrong petting zoo," Kushiel replied lightly, and her professors carefully refrained from looking at each other lest they laugh.

Dennis glared at her sourly. "You again."

"Yes, me again."

"Clark, what the hell is going on?"

"Persephone attacked the school," he reported simply, but they could all hear the rage simmering underneath the more or less level tone of voice. "My students were injured, one of them killed, and because we don't have any information, we don't know if this was something She's been planning or if it was just spur of the moment."

Wincing, the blonde man looked around again, seeing the blood stained rags and clothing, the desperate search for more pain potion. "One was killed?"

"A first year girl, Tisha Havern."

"How were you attacked?"

"Shadowvines," Tyler told him, his arm tightening reflexively around the student's shoulder. "Twenty-eight of them, all told. Sixteen lie dead, the others vanished."

"They're still in the school!"

"No, or the alarms would still be going off," Clark dismissed coldly. "Shadowvines have the ability to vanish, almost like Disapparating."

Dennis sighed, running a hand through his unusually disheveled hair. "I'll get you all the reports I have as soon as the office opens for the day," he promised ruefully. "We thought if She had reason to believe you weren't actively pursuing her anymore, She might leave the school alone."

"Whoops," Kushiel muttered caustically, and Tyler casually brought his other hand up to cover her mouth.

"Hush," he whispered, breath warm against her ear.

"Get your report to me as soon as you can manage, Dowling," Dennis ordered either missing or ignoring the student's comment. "I'll go wake up some generals."

"Ooh, a pajama party, how fun," Kush murmured into the muffling hand.

"Is pain making you loopy?"

"It might just be," she agreed whimsically.

They all watched Dennis walk out of the infirmary, rather relieved to see him go, and Tyler uncovered the girl's mouth. Polonius walked over to them from the private fireplace in Robin's office where he'd been talking with the Haverns. "Kraven, they want to see Devryn," he told his fellow Head.

"Oh, god, Devryn doesn't even know yet," Kushiel breathed.

"Will we need anything special to get past your seal?" Kraven queried.

"No, we set it to allow faculty and staff through."

"I told you Colubrae winning the House Cup three years in a row would be the end of the world."

They all looked at Polonius, and remembering Cliona's earlier comment, Kushiel couldn't help but laugh, the others slowly joining in. It wasn't even that funny, but it was a very good way to release some of the tension eating at their minds.

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They gathered for Tisha's memorial service on a day that was offensively beautiful. Still cold, but the sky overhead was clear and bright. The students huddled together for both warmth and comfort, clad all in black to show respect to the dead girl's family.

Standing with the other Colubraes, Kushiel planted herself firmly against the half-frozen earth, supporting most of Carriegan's weight despite her still painful back. Their poor luck had not abandoned them with the attack; the shadowvines had indeed been in their toxic phase. Only the very beginning of it, Professor Ward assured them after examining the left behind bodies, so the toxin was extremely weak, but it made the wound resistant to magic and slow to heal.

Neither of them had known Tisha very well; known her at all, actually. She was six years below them, and in a rival house. They felt responsible for her, though. They had tried to protect her and failed. Certainly Devryn held them responsible, though none of the faculty blamed them in the slightest. Tisha's older brother understood very well that the girls had done their best, but needed to vent his anger. They equally understood his helpless rage and simply took it, offering no excuses. It was their punishment, in a way, since no professor was going to burden them with the fault of what lay beyond their reach. It was a uniquely Colubrae way of looking at things, but if their Head of House guessed, he didn't say anything.

Devryn's helplessly accusing eyes wouldn't be following them about for much longer, though. He stood now with his family by the pitifully small casket, but all of his bags and his trunk were packed. After the private burial, and a few days to mourn with his family, he would be transferring to the Tourgique Institute of Enchantment off the coast of Louisiana. His parents no longer trusted his safety to Avistrum, not when Persephone had made it Her target. He stood with a face carved from stone, heedless of the tears coursing down his cheeks.

Nearly the entire school stood in support of their fallen classmate, a wordless vigil in the chill wind. Only the students still in the infirmary were missing. Nurse Kayenta had strongly protested Carriegan's attendance, when the girl couldn't even stand or walk on her own. Professor Bloodthorne, however, had taken a long look at Carriegan's expression and gently overridden Robin. The Headmaster had said a few words that no one really heard, and Professor Aberfoyle as her Head of House, and now all that remained was this silent tribute. Gradually, the students began filing in twos and threes back into the school.

Cliona and Callum helped Artanus lead away Elena, who was still in a shocked, almost numb state even after three days. There were some things a healer was never meant to accept, and death was one of these things. It was the closest that the gentle assistant had ever been to death, for all that she'd been as little able to prevent it as Carriegan and Kushiel. She carried it much differently, in a much more personal way. The other two addressed their guilt and bore it, adding it to their mental tallies of Persephone's offenses. Elena simply grieved.

Kraven walked up to his two girls, the only students left out on the hill, his black robes swirling about in a much more subdued manner than usual. He laid a strong hand on Carriegan's shoulder. "Come, it's time for you to be back in the infirmary. Robin will have my head if I leave you out any longer."

"Why can we See, sir?" she asked quietly. "Why can we See huge things, dynamic changes, the rise and fall of whole empires, the death or assassination of leaders and villains, but we can't See something as important as the death of a little girl?"

"Because that it what we're given to See," he told her plainly. "We don't choose what the Sight presents us, and it is, when all is said and done, merely a possibility. Besides, even if you had Seen it, do you really think you could have changed it? You were defending the entire group. If you'd focused on saving her, who knows how many others would have been lost. That's an ugly, but necessary, part of war."

She nodded and pushed away from her friend, struggling to make her way back into the school of her own accord. Kraven allowed her her pride until her leg collapsed beneath her. Catching her, he slung her up into his arms and looked back at Kushiel. "Don't stay out here too long," he instructed. "The Haverns have made arrangements with the Headmaster to have the elves transport Miss Havern's body back home."

"Yes, sir." She watched him carry Carriegan back into the school, followed at a distance by the Haverns. Walking up to next to the casket, she stood beside the stern-faced Devryn. The sixth year was tall and still growing, not lanky but broad, as well. He made a perfect Beater. She stood with him in silence until he turned to look at her with tortured brown eyes.

"I don't want to leave her alone," he whispered, voice cracking.

"Go with your family, Devryn," she told him gently. "I'll wait with Tisha until the elves come out. I won't leave her alone."

Nodding, he said not another word, racing away from the remains of his sister and catching up with his family, his parents and three older brothers. Tisha was their only girl, a surprise when Mrs. Havern hadn't expected any more children.

Kushiel walked up until she could brush against the polished dark wood with her fingers, tracing the elegant scrollwork carved into the edges. Flowers trailed over the curve, hanging down to pool in the grass. She heard the muffled sound of the great doors closing, turning back to see a very tall redhead standing in front of them. She should have known there'd be someone waiting for her. Her own wounds were healing, though they still ached, and the claw marks on her side weren't healing as quickly as Nurse Kayenta thought they should be. Her joking hypotheses that maybe her shadowvine sucked its claws while it was sleeping had been highly unappreciated. She also wished her mother had warned her about the lasting pain of conjuring the sword. She'd been told, of course, that it was for emergencies only, but she hadn't counted on it being so obstinately agonizing.

When she turned back to the casket, she frowned. She was very, very certain that it hadn't been there before, but there was a bouquet of dried roses laying atop the dark brown wood. They had been yellow at some point in their vibrancy, dried to a dusty, antique gold. Pulling it off, she cradled it in the crook of one elbow, tugging out the note of thick ivory parchment. Elegant calligraphy in gold ink spelled out _I know this is little comfort, but truly, the innocents were never meant to be hurt. Only those who stand in the way of lightening this dark, dismal world with a touch of beauty were supposed to be affected. I am sorry that I cost you your daughter. All children are precious, and they were never meant to be hurt._ She read it twice over, then twirled the paper in her fingers as she considered it.

Shaking her head, she waited, flowers in hand, until Lin and several other house elves popped into view. "We's taking her now, Miss," Lin squeaked, a black drape over his tea towel toga. She nodded and let them take Tisha's body with them, winking out of sight to deliver Tisha to her home. Shifting the bouquet, she walked slowly back to the school, the wound on her leg starting to throb fiercely.

Tyler helped her up the steps, raising his eyebrows at the bouquet. "Is that what I think it is?"

She handed it to him wordlessly, watching him read it.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, keeping the bouquet and note in his left hand. "I'll give it to Clark, but I think you're right. The Haverns will have an easier time of it if they can think Her a complete monster." The Arithmancy professor regarded her keenly. "Are you all right?"

"Just sore," she answered softly.

"In your body or in your heart?" he asked wisely, and she smiled very slightly.

"Both, I guess."

"Here." He handed her back the dried roses and picked her up, cradling her against his chest. "Let's get you to Robin, and we'll call Clark there when he's finished speaking with the Haverns. I think Greywolf and Grasella have finished some more pain potion by now."

"I don't think I need a potion," she demurred, and her back flared in disagreement. "I just need to get off my leg."

"You haven't had anything for the pain since you received the wounds," he argued. "Don't get all Parador on me, mein kinde," he added teasingly.

She snorted derisively. "If I were being Parador, I would whine about it hurting."

"Kush, please. Take some potion, and rest in the infirmary for a bit. Too, we want to make sure you of all people don't have any dreams. At least there we'll be able to make sure Haddi doesn't come near you."

She gave up and nodded, closing her eyes and relaxing into the gentle rocking sensation of him carrying her. She was too tired to argue. She was more than half asleep when he laid her in the bed next to Carriegan, his rich baritone voice washing over her as he directed a comment to Robin. Then she felt a potion vial cold against her lips and knew no more.


	20. Quills and Notions

**Disclaimer: Neither Harry Potter nor Avistrum are mine. Some of the non-Harry Potter characters belong to their owners, the rest belong to me, same goes for the devices. Have fun trying to figure out which is which.**

_A/N: Please review?_

**Chapter Twenty: Quills and Notions**

Dear Mum,

I promised to keep you updated on whatever I could with my search, and seeing as it will probably be hitting all of the papers here soon, I think I can safely tell you this: Persephone attacked the school again. Colubrae won the Quidditch Cup and we had our necessary victory party, of course, and Professor Bloodthorne broke it up around one in the morning. We were heading off the bed when we heard the school alarms go off. That damned house elf brought creatures called Shadowvines into the school. Have you ever heard of them?

They're smoky, and damn fast. They can also vanish and reappear in another location, though there seem to be limits to that, seeing as how they didn't just appear in our midst. I won't bore you with all the details, but many, many students were injured, and a first year girl died. I hate to say this, because I'm truly not this callous, but at least it's given the government a kick in the right direction; they've sent us all the backlogged reports, and have resumed sending us the other reports as soon as they get them. There isn't a great deal of new information yet, but it's unsettling. I'll get back to that in a minute though.

I wish you'd warned me about the tattoo. I had to use the dagger to make it a sword, because the shadowvines are extremely resistant to magic. I didn't expect it to hurt so badly, nor for so long. I know you weren't expecting me to have to resort to it quite so soon; you specifically said when you gave me the sketch that you didn't foresee a need for me to use it before graduation. As Callum said, though, we're not in Hogwarts, with weapons laying about as decoration.

I'm trying not to feel guilty for Tisha's death, but it's hard. She was only twelve years old; the only reason she was at the party is because her older brother is on the Colubrae team. We tried so hard to protect everyone in the group, but the beasties were just too fast. I know I shouldn't feel guilty, there was nothing more I could do, but why does it still persist? I know Carriegan feels the same way; besides being the other sword-wielder, she had a glimmer. Nothing specific, she says, just a vague bad feeling like I did before the professors went off in August. She thought at first that it was just about the game, so she didn't say anything, but now she thinks it was about the attack and blames herself for not telling Professor Bloodthorne.

Too, Persephone left a bundle of flowers and a note on Tisha's casket after the memorial. I took them off before the elves took her back to her family. Professor Ward told me I did the right thing. I want to hate Persephone, Mum, but it's hard sometimes. I can get so easily enraged at her, for what she's done to my friends, for what she did to Rafael da Lucca, but I can't quite hate her. Most of the time, she doesn't realize that there's a problem in what she's doing. She apologized, Mum. She said she never meant for an innocent to get hurt. Rafael said that sometimes she gets angry, and I think that's when the more violent of the attacks happen, but most of the time, she's just trying to advance what could be considered a noble goal. How do you hate someone who just doesn't get it? I want to hate her, she's costing us too much that is precious, but I just can't seem to bring myself to it. She's supposed to be the bad guy; why do I feel sympathy for her?

We're healing, though. Carriegan got bitten, and just our luck, the creatures were in their toxic phase, so it's having to heal on its own, without benefit of magic. Mine are healing slowly, but they're getting there. Cliona's back is one giant mass of bruises, but then, that isn't actually from the attack. I leave that entirely to your own imagination; I'm sure Nanan's daughter will more than understand. It's kind of funny to see which of the professors are sensitive enough to pick up on how each of the older students is treating us. Everyone is in a state of shock still over Tisha's death, but life has to go on, thus school does as well. Carriegan, usually so focused on her studies, is in a blue funk still (she's also having some troubles with Cúan, though), so Professor Ward, Professor Bloodthorne, and Professor Kobiyashi are lightening her homework, letting her work through it herself before resuming normal routine. For myself, the professors are piling on the work, knowing that it keeps me too busy to dwell on it. They vary for each student, just slightly, as we each need. I'm grateful for it, more so than I can say. A week ago, I would have grumbled at receiving three pages of Arithmancy problems, but now, I'm thankful for the hours that will go into answering them all, thankful for the sheer work of it.

I can't sleep, Mum. It's not even that I'm dreaming, I just can't sleep. I go crazy pacing about the dormitory and common room until I finally escape to another part of the school. Sometimes I go to my desk in the staff room, but there's only so many times that I can reread the same reports. Then I'll usually try the kitchens, and the hot chocolate helps for a time, but then I get fidgety again. I've started retreating to the barn. Either Professor Ward is just used to not sleeping because of the rest of the year, or he's having the same troubles I am, because he's usually awake. More often than not, we go up to the loft so we can star-gaze while the kittens play in the hay, and we'll talk. Sometimes about what happened, usually not. You'd like him, Mum. He's not a dumb jock like you thought he'd be when you found out third year that I had a professional Quidditch player for two classes. I'm tired, but at least I'm not pacing a hole in the rugs, and the company and conversation are more than welcome, and enjoyable.

There's not enough information on the new minion. It frightens me. We've heard that he's some kind of sculptor, but either they're being more circumspect than usual, or they just haven't done anything big enough to be noticed yet. We've found an increase of missing persons reports, but they seem to have just vanished, both wizard and muggle. I hate this waiting game. People are going missing, and who knows what happens to them after that point, and we just don't know anything.

Think of us, Mum, and wish us well. We need all the help we can get, at this point.

Love,

Kush

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Polonius-

What the hell was in that gift you had me pass along to Kushiel? Immediately upon opening it, she shrieked in outrage, hurled the box across the room, and started laughing hysterically. She then flatly refused to tell any of us what it was, but she was still laughing when she went to take it up to her dorm.

-Kraven

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Kraven-

She'll tell you when she wants you to know. Or isn't that one of the virtues of your house?

-Polonius

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Kush, I can't stand it anymore! You were right all along! The woman is an absolute harridan!

Pierce and I have left Mab's Eyrie. We were just going to kick out Grandmother, but Da and Papa Lauren prevailed upon our better natures. We are at Hallowed Haven for the moment, but because Pierce works from home and doesn't have to worry about Floo or Apparation distance, we are strongly considering prevailing upon Nanan and Grandpère at Chez des Anges. I want to hurt her, Kushiel! I have never in my life wanted to physically harm a person, but right now, I could injure her gladly.

None of the family is speaking to her. Not even Papa Lauren, and you _know_ how rarely he says anything against her. As meek and unspoken as you have always accused me of being, he has always been even more so. And, now, he has actually packed his bag and is staying with Aunt Siobhan and her boys. He says that news sent Grandmother into hysterics.

She is all alone at Mab's Eyrie now, and Thorn says even the house elves are furious. For once, our scheming cow of a grandmother has outwitted herself, and I believe it shall be some time before anyone forgives her.

Damn. Mum says the harridan is at the door. I'm going to send Tulip to give this to Radra. As for myself, I am going to hide.

Love Always,

Rhon

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Blue Eyes,

I know you're probably still furious with me, and you have every right to be, but Bunny wrote home and said that you were hurt. Are you all right? What happened?

L, Cúan

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Dear Kushiel,

Enclosed, find some sticks of incense that I picked up while I was gone. So far as I can tell, and was promised, they are supposed to promote peace of mind, to allow your thoughts to rest and guide you to sleep. It is not potentially addictive like a potion, your system cannot be saturated with it, which your mother tells me has always been one of your fears with your insomnia. Does it actually work? To tell you the truth, I have no idea. I learned to be grateful for sleep while I was gone, and running after your mother usually makes me exhausted by day's end.

Papa Lauren also sent along something for you; he's staying with us for a few days before he heads off to stay with Siobhan and her boys. …Now I know I'm home; I never used to refer to my sister's harem in such a manner. But, your mother was right, I think; Siobhan is much more her sister than she is mine, blood be damned. Papa Lauren carved the knot himself, saying that the rowan and hazel will help you sleep, help you heal. Your mother gave us the leather for the cord; we couldn't for the life of us find any ourselves, and the weather has been quite foul down in Dublin, preventing us from making any shopping excursions.

I hope that in the time that's passed since the last letter you sent your mother, things have gotten easier for you. I know it can never truly be forgotten, but it becomes more manageable in time. I haven't been at any point a model father, but if you ever need to come home, if you need someone to come to you, just let us know and we'll drop everything to make it happen. Little enough as I can help, just tell me, and at least I'll be able to do something.

Love,

Da

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Professor Avram Michaels, c/o Tourgique Institute of Enchantment,

Dear sir,

My name is Tyler Ward, professor of Care of Magical Beasts at the Avsitrum Academy of Sorcery. Our school was recently attacked by Shadowvines, as I'm sure you've heard. While doing further research on the rather recently discovered breed, I noticed a certain resemblance to the feliolinx, the mascot of one of your Houses. I was wondering, seeing as so little is known of the feliolinx in general circles, do you possibly have any detailed information on the feliolinx that you could spare?

Sincerely,

Tyler Ward

Professor of Care of Magical Beasts, Arithmancy

Head of Enigmus House

Avsitrum Academy of Sorcery

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Dear Ginny, I was wondering if I could talk to you as one female wolf to another? Please don't jump to any outlandish conclusions, though I won't deny that what you're thinking is probably, indeed, what happened. –Cliona

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Dear Da,

A few months ago, I never would have pictured myself saying this, but give yourself a chance. You seem greatly altered since you got back, and I think I'm liking this new Da. Thank you for the incense, and pass along my gratitude to Papa Lauren for the knot. Professor Bloodthorne looked at them, as I happened to be in the staff room when I received them, and pronounced them excellent, so I'm going to give them a shot tonight. The Headmaster, drat him, has already made me promise that if they don't work and allow me to sleep, I will take a potion tomorrow night. Blech.

Why is Papa Lauren staying with Aunt Siobhan? And why just him? I can't even remember the last time he took a trip with Grandmother. I just found it passing strange, that's all.

Actually, we were successful today in diverting the path of Professor Avarra's intended lecture, and rather than listening to another day of Harry Houdini, we managed to get him onto mythology. After all, he is a mythological creature to the muggles. I almost feel bad for Professor Avarra; he's so enthusiastic about his subject, but he is just woefully unprepared to deal with my group of friends. We started talking about Orion, and I brought up your story about the Southern Cross, and he presented us with another option for why Orion was chasing Taurus at all; he was protecting Virgo or the Pleiades, depending on which story you use. Well, then Gwen made a rather unfortunate (but hysterical) comment on the placement of shooting stars, and from then on, control of the class was utterly lost. I still think he has no idea what happened, the poor satyr. Ah, well, he'll learn.

If you have time to get to Flourish and Blotts, you might be interested in a book called _The Bull and the Virgins_. It's about the mythos of Taurus and the Pleiades, as well as theories on how the Seven Sisters came to be identified separately from the Bull. I'd have gotten it for you, but well...we're still grounded to campus. The Headmaster has given absolutely no indication of lifting the ban on that, which is driving us all stir crazy, but then, I guess I can understand his concerns in letting us run rampant over all of Virginia again.

Bises,

Kush

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Polonius-

Whatever was in that box you left for Elowen? She gaped at it for a full minute before turning a deep red and closing the box. She didn't say a single word. What could you possibly have given her that would cause such a reaction?

-Adante

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Adante-

You could always ask Elowen, but I highly doubt she'll tell you.

-Polonius

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My dearest Rhonwyn,

While I must say I am indescribably proud of you writing off the harridan (and don't you dare glower at me in a sudden return of guilty good morals, I have your letter sitting right here beside me), you never actually told me what she did to anger all of you so. I'm sure it had to have been quite horrendous, but I find myself still in ignorance, and can only beg you to release me from it.

You would not believe the fuss that has come about from Elowen's and my success. We don't wish anyone to know what our forms are, which is why I have not even told you or Mum. We have some vague thoughts on using them to cause a to do at the Leaving Feast, but nothing firm yet. Professor Aberfoyle is more than willing to indulge us in this (indeed, I think he's taking a rather fiendish delight in it), and some few others are content to allow us our secret. Professor Ward, Mister Argiletum, and Madam Scriba number among these, as well a slighty grudging Fineus. The others, though…by Danu! They will not leave it be! I cannot even pass by the Headmaster without him pouncing me in question.

Only in question, Rhon, so no giggling.

Carriegan's leg is slowly healing, you'll be glad to know, and my back is almost returned to normal. It still aches, but it's more like the ache of a long day's work than the feeling that somebody took a golf club and beat me with it, so it's a definite improvement. We received a very brief letter from Devryn Havern telling us that he has settled in at Tourgique and he is liking it there; his form of apology, I suppose, not that we've done anything to merit it. I'm glad he's settled, though. I hope it's easier on him, there, though relocating three quarters of the way through your sixth year can't be easy.

If you're still at Haven when you get this, please ask Amos to have someone write a letter for him. Call me paranoid, but I would really like to have proof that everyone I love is all right. I'm sure Mum's worried, though she's being careful not to say so, and between the two of us, I can't really blame her. _I'm_ worried.

But enough. I'm dying to know what Grandmother did, and more catching up can wait for another letter. Hurry and write back, woman!

Love Always,

Kush

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Dear Cliona,

Of course we can talk. I admit, I should be grateful of the chance to know you better, seeing as you and Callum are quite inseparable. I am guessing, however, that you don't wish the others to know of this? If this is the case, it might be easier for you to continue this through letters, my dear. They won't think anything of me getting frequent letters, I usually do, and you seem rather nervous.

Fondly,

Ginny

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My Dearest Kush,

How I wish I could just sweep you up and bring you home, away from all this insanity. But, I know that as unhappy as you are not being able to change it yet, you would be even more so here worrying about everyone else. All I can tell you, precious, to all of it, is wait and hope. I know that's not what you want to hear, but I think we both know we're past the point where Mum can kiss your hurt and make it all better. I can't fix this for you, pet, as much as I want to. I have faith in you, though. You are my daughter, and too, you are your father's daughter, whether you want to admit that or not. Just try to have faith in yourself, and in your professors.

I know it can't be easy to trust that the Headmaster will be any brighter about this than he was about you, the uptight prat, but then, perhaps he's simply been chasing Persephone too long to focus clearly on anything else at the moment. Besides, from how warmly you endorse Professor Ward, I daresay you're recovering admirably from that heart-wrenching, n'est-ce pas? You truly are my daughter; why go for the students when you can have fun with the professors? Just be careful, precious. This one may be equally inclined to have the 'she's a student' freak out, as you so aptly put it. But, you will do as you will do. Just remember that I'm always here if you need me. That includes beating up reprobate professors if they break your heart, too.

I owe you a much longer letter, precious, but I have to go rescue your sister, and I didn't want you thinking I was ignoring you.

Love Always,

Mum

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Tyler-

I thought a friendly warning might be in order. Passing through the Common Room last night to fetch a student playing hookey from a detention, I happened across the Queens and their cohorts giggling like mad and sitting very close together to keep the overall conversation from being heard. However, your name managed to come up a few times. Thought you should know.

-Kraven

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Dear Cuan,

Furious is not quite the verbage I would use when discussing the state of my emotions.

Yes, I was injured. There was an attack on the school by Persephone. Right after the House Cup match. Which, you'll not be happy to know that your house was not the winner like you were hoping. Part of me feels like I should have known not to be celebrating so much, it was asking for trouble. I had a feeling… I had a glimmer.. but I ignored it. I should have gone to Professor Bloodthorne. Instead, I failed. Kush and I did the best we could.. but.. in the end.. the little one died. She was in your house. She shouldn't have been at the party. It was far too late for a firstie to be out.

Forgive me, I am rambling. To answer your question… Lets just say you and I won't be dancing the tango any time in the near future.

Carriegan Ellette Chantrea

P.S. If you were wise, you'd learn that the _green-eyed_ monster is not one to play truth or truth with.

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Spades-

If the kappa variable is situated at cross purposes to the definitive, does it affect the transitive mu directly or indirectly?

-Diamonds

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Strife-

Why not just do your own work?

-Havoc

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Cli-

I'm tired. Cut me some slack.

-Kush

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Kitten-

Directly.

-Llama

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Cliona-

Please don't ever call me that. It's creepy.

And thanks.

-Kushiel

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Kush-

Would you prefer Punkin?

-Bunny

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Spades, I am going to hurt you.

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Dear Kush,

Um….first, are you sitting down? Are you in public? If the answer to the second question is yes, then, knowing you, you might want to remove yourself to a more private place.

I'm pregnant.

With twins.

Twin boys.

Obviously, I wasn't planning on being pregnant this early on in the marriage. Pierce and I had talked about it, and decided that we just weren't ready to be parents right off. We had agreed to wait a few years, so I would be taking the Potion until that point.

Grandmother had other ideas.

You remember how she was soooo insistent that she be the only one to touch the caudle cup after the ceremony? Well, there was a reason for that. She commissioned some very pricey fertility potion, and unfortunately for us actually got what she paid for. It's guaranteed to override any anti-conception potion, and so long as one of the partners isn't barren or infertile, it's guaranteed conception and implantation. I didn't realize it at first; you know our periods have never been regular, so it didn't seem at all odd that I wasn't bleeding. But then I started feeling sick, so I went to Mum, and she told me. I couldn't believe it. Mum was suspicious, though, and she started asking questions of the house elves, who then asked their own questions of the elves at Mab's Eyrie, and the whole story eventually came tumbling out. I conceived on the wedding night (why am I blushing? This certainly isn't new territory for you), and will be giving birth to twin boys sometime around September.

And I am terrified. I'm not ready to be a mother, Kush! I wasn't terribly ready to be a wife! Pierce is understanding, though he's furious at Grandmother, but I can't help but think he's worried, too. We've only just begun renovating Mab's Eyrie. The workmen say it won't be ready (readsafe for children) by the time we need it to be, so I'll be giving birth to and raising my children for the first who knows how long of their lives in either Hallowed Haven or Chez des Anges. Probably Hallowed Haven, now that I think on it a little more carefully. I love Nanan dearly, but who knows how early influence starts. I don't know that I really want my boys being fed her French laissez-faire along with my milk; the last thing I need is two ten year old womanizers a decade down the line.

Papa Lauren is still angry with Grandmother, but he's already started making cradles and rocking chairs. How such a sweet man has survived so many years with that cow…but, I am being unkind. I shouldn't usurp your job. Pierce and I have started talking about names now that Mum has confirmed the sex of the babies. He wants to pick from mythology. I told him we couldn't possibly, that's how you choose the names of your cats. Somehow, I don't think that's rescued me any. So, it seems my children are doomed to have typically grandiose names in the wizarding tradition that will leave them entirely unsuited to surviving in the muggle world. I can't see any reason why they would need to, but at the same time, it would be nice to know they're able to if it should ever become necessary. Or even just because they want to.

Oh, Kush, save me. I'm not ready for all this. And I know you're not ready to be an aunt. I'm sure you're probably swearing under your breath with every word I write.

Mum says you're not allowed to kill Grandmother.

I told her she was being overhasty in forbidding such a thing, and she just smiled and said pregnancy left me entirely too open to your influence.

I need to take a nap, and while I could just set this aside and continue it after I wake up, I think I'd like to get it you now. Papa Lauren sends his love, as do Mum, Da, and Pierce. Amos said to tell you that he was fine, and he's glad you're healed, but that he isn't wasting the time to make someone sit with him and write out the letter for him.

But then, that's Amos.

Promise me you'll be careful, Kush. I know you're healing, but this woman is not to be taken lightly. Pierce and I ran into Professor Snape and his wife at a restaurant in London, and Mrs. Snape invited us to sit with her. The Professor bore it with surprising grace, but he did ask after you. Professor Bloodthorne has kept him closely updated on as much as he can, given the Professor's experience with the Dark Lord. He says the two aren't even comparable, really. It frightens me that you're right there in the thick of it, and from what Mum says (though she says to reassure you that she has not compromised your Oath), you aren't likely to be moving out of the center of attention anytime soon. I know that asking you to stop getting Her attention will just be a waste of ink, but for my sake, if not for your own, please be careful.

Love always,

Rhon

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Polonius-

As Headmaster, I need to know what each of my students is capable of. As such, please let me know the Animagus forms of Miss Dondale and Madamoiselle de Navarre as soon as possible.

-Clark

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Clark-

By school rules and federal law, Elowen and Kushiel are not required to inform anyone other than myself and the Animagus Registration Office at the Hexagon of their forms. They have chosen not to divulge to anyone else.

Get over it.

-Polonius

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Robin-

I apologize if you see an increase in seventh years coming to you for dreamless sleep potions. I foolishly forgot to check my syllabus and adjust accordingly to allow for the recent incidents, and I'm afraid we covered the practical lesson on boggarts today. I hadn't expected it to be quite so disastrous, but a number of the students were extremely affected, and I hope they're wise enough to come to you for assistance.

-Remus

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Dear Rhon,

Okay, I'm calmer now. So, what names are being considered?

And actually, now that I think of it, did you ever do a Boggart Swing in Professor Lupin's class? We went in the other day, thinking it was class as normal, well, as normal as class with Professor Lupin ever is, and he took us to the Great Hall, where all the tables had been pushed aside. There was a cardboard box rattling and shaking somewhat awful, and he asked us a few questions on boggarts. We weren't entirely thrilled, it was a bit close to the events of the attack, but life goes on, and he seemed rather sheepish, at that, like he'd realized it two moments too late to change the lesson plans.

He said we'd be going up against it, so we all got in a loose line, and then he put on swing music! The Andrews sisters, Louis Armstrong, Dizzy Gillespie, Duke Ellington…oh my goodness, Rhon, it was hysterical! Just an old fashioned muggle record player, and there it is, blasting out music half of the people in the room had never heard before. I confess, I got a reprimand; Carriegan, Cliona, Elena, and I kept swing dancing in the back of the line. He was laughing while he scolded us, though, so we weren't really in that much trouble.

I know I shouldn't judge people by their fears, but some of them just seem awfully silly. I mean, whose deepest, darkest, most debilitating fear is spiders? Then again, Guy teased me that mine would turn into a clown, so I suppose I'm _really_ not one to judge. Nearly everyone screamed at Elena's, but then, the wound was too raw to do anything else. Hers was little Tisha lying on the stones with her throat torn out, just as it had been. It took her several minutes to be able to perform the charm, the golem of Tisha lying there the whole while, but she eventually got it, and Tisha sat up wiping paint away from her throat and laughing, a cardstock and macaroni SWAT badge taped to her robes, as if she were playing Battle at the Hexagon. Somehow, I don't think any of us will be playing that game any time soon.

Guy's made Remus turn pale, but then, most of my classmates have only ever heard of Death Eaters, they've never actually seen one in person. They're mostly gone now, of course, but there's still some. I'm beginning to think there'll always be some. Would you believe Guy actually had the nerve to wink at me before he turned it into a clown? I'm not too proud to admit that I shrieked and buried my head against Cliona and Carriegan.

I HATE clowns!

Carriegan was the next of our group to go, and at first we were surprised, because it seemed just a mirror image. Then it started morphing into her mother. Carr's never had a good relationship with anyone in her family other than her Auntie Ellette, so those of us who know her well were not at all shocked. As for the rest…well, none of us have ever actually seen Carr's mother in person, so they had no idea at all who it was. But Carriegan steeled herself and performed the charm, and suddenly there was Piewacket's head on her mother's body, scolding her for not getting enough food and sleep and working herself too hard.

Guy and I managed an aerial and a pretzel before Cli's turn, for all that Remus tried to scold us. The boggart turned into Cliona, the Alpha ring about her neck growing larger and larger until it was a great weight around her neck. After the charm, the seal turned into Callum's Hogwarts ring, and the boggart-Cliona had a very goofy grin on its face. She's never going to hear the end of that one, I don't think.

After another couple of people (and another couple of aerials), it was my turn. I honestly didn't know what to expect; sometimes our deepest fears only make sense after they're revealed, and other things just aren't as important as we think they are in the overall scheme of things. But, all of a sudden, I was standing in front of myself, a formerly white dried rose holding back part of my hair, an indefinable Mona Lisa smile floating about my lips. I held a piece of paper, and I think I was the only one who could see what it held, a hand falling back in a graceful, beautiful arc into a pool of blood.

It took all I had within me not to run weeping from the hall. I just stood there and stared at it, at myself. Finally I heard the swing music again, and my boggart-self turned into you eight months pregnant with your boys. You looked like you had swallowed a ginormous beach ball, and I couldn't help but laugh, and then it was someone else's turn. I was still shaking.

I can't be Her, Rhonwyn. I look at myself, and I just don't see how I could ever be like Persephone, but then I find that the similarities are there, and I want to scream in terror. I don't know if I've ever been that innocent, but surely I haven't been so single-minded and blinded? Perhaps I'm saved because I don't have her latent Parador tendencies, but the thought is still enough to wake me in a cold sweat.

The laughter was forced for each of the boggarts, and it was still going strong until it hit Aurelia, and her spider suddenly became a pink butterfly. That was just a little too silly, and we finally laughed, though Professor Lupin still had to banish it back into its cardboard box. We usually leave that class talking and laughing, but we left quietly that time, and it's been preying at my mind ever since, which I'm sure wasn't at all his intention.

I talked to Professor Ward about it. Headmaster Dowling tried to, but he and I have silently come to a mutual agreement just to avoid each other whenever possible. Professor Bloodthorne just left it up to Tyler, I think. He says I work closely enough with the professors that I needn't bother with his title when it's just the two of us, that I can just call him Tyler. We sat up in the loft, and he said Professor Lupin had told the staff some of the more pertinent boggarts, namely mine and Elena's. Elena's counseling they left up to Nurse Kayenta, one healer speaking to another. Of all the faculty, I think Tyler and Professor Bloodthorne are the two that most understand what it is I fear so desperately about Persephone. It's not the damage she does, it's not the tragedies she causes. It's the simple fact that I can't honestly deny that I'm like her. How do you hate your worst enemy if it sometimes feels like looking in a mirror? He said he didn't have an easy answer for me, or really any answer at all, so he just kept me company as I tried to work it out in my head, the kittens playing madcap tag about the hayloft. I miss the beginning of summer, when there was nothing more strenuous to think about than assignments and what we were going to wear to Howl.

Love Always,

Kush

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Blue Eyes,

Can you forget being Colubrae for one moment and just tell me if you're all right?

And so long as you brought it up, what would you use to describe the state of your emotions, if not furious? I've left you alone a month, figuring that you would contact me when you when you wanted to talk to me again, and have heard nothing. Would you rather I kept my silence now? I know I shouldn't have used Veritaserum on you. All right? I know.

But in all honesty, what else would you have had me do? I'm very fond of you, Blue Eyes, but you have a very bad habit of sidestepping things other people might need to know. As you enjoy pointing out, I was in Parador; we like to answer questions when they're put to us. You've been Bunny's friend for far too long for me not to have learned your deviousness, and no, you should not take that as a compliment. I figured if you truly felt something, and truly saw us being something in the future, you'd forgive me with time. I guess I was wrong.

And you shouldn't be blaming yourself for Tisha Havern's death. Yes, Bunny told me about it, and she also told me about what you, Kush, and Elena are doing to yourselves. Stop it. Seriously, while it is inarguably a tragedy, there's only so much you could have done. She is the only one that died, but if you hadn't been trying so hard, others might have died as well, as I'm sure you've been told many times. You may be angry as all hell, and hurting, and blaming yourself, but I do truly care about you, Blue Eyes, and I don't want to see you beating yourself up about this.

Please let me know that you're all right.

L, Cúan

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Dear Ginny,

I suppose I should be thankful for your healer's gift of intuition. You're absolutely correct; I really don't wish for the others to know.

I'm not sure if inseparable is the exact word that I would use to describe my relationship with Callum, but suffice it to say we have gotten extremely close, perhaps closer than I originally intended. We certainly have developed our relationship much more quickly than I had ever anticipated. I'm not saying or implying that I regret anything that has happened between the two of us, but it's all a bit mind blowing at the moment. I never expected to get attached to anyone in such a short amount of time.

You probably already know what all of this entails due to that gift of intuition that I mentioned previously, but I suppose it would be best for me to lay it out truthfully. Callum and I have recently given into hormones and nature. The call of the wolf was finally too strong to resist.

Yours,

Cliona

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Dear Kush,

By chance, do you know the author's name for that book you recommended? I went to Flourish and Blotts and gave them the title of it, and the clerk sniffed and told me I would be better off looking in Knockturn Alley. Apparently, it's the name of quite a popular X-Rated Pensieve, with its companion book for the more tenderhearted. Somehow, I don't think that's exactly what you had in mind.

Or at least, please tell me that it wasn't what you had in mind. I'm having enough trouble getting used to you not being ten anymore; I don't need to stress myself with trying to imagine you with a first-hand familiarity of all that.

Love,

Da

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Dear Carriegan,

My daughter tells me you're having some problems with reconciling yourself to Tisha's death.

I hope you will not think this too presumptuous, my dear, but you have been here often enough to be considered family, and thus, I will tell you what I would tell Kushiel if she had had such a glimmer.

You can't change Fate.

That's why they give it a capital F, n'est-ce pas?

A glimmer can mean anything, and it can refer to a very broad range of time. It's entirely possible that the glimmer wasn't meant to foreshadow the attack and Tisha's death, but something that will happen later. For all its ancient roots, Divinations is a very imprecise subject when it comes to such things. The Sight is a gift, yes, but it is also a burden, and you must learn how to shoulder such things with grace.

You can't save the world, my dear. It's just not possible. Altering one thing in response to Sight can change eighty others, and the consequences can spin wildly past all imaginings. I never had the Gift for it, but my best friend did, and I will tell you what her mentor told her.

Seeing something beforehand allows you to pick up the nuances during the actual event; it does not place the event into your hands.

Try not to take so much upon yourself, Carriegan. Many potential Seers have gone mad long before they realized their potential because they could not separate knowledge from responsibility. You have a responsibility to those around you, yes, but you also have a far more heavy and sacred charge of guarding what you see. It is to prepare you, not the world, that Sight is given.

If you need an ear that is not so close to the events, you know you may always owl or Floo me here at Hallowed Haven. You are a very good friend to my daughter, and I know she treasures your friendship. The very least I can do is offer to you what you need.

Bises,

Séraphine de Navarre

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Dear Tyler,

Do you mind if I call you Tyler? I've never been one much for formality.

Anyhoo, it was quite well done to notice a resemblance between the two. I would never have seen it for myself, but now that you've pointed it out, it seems perfectly obvious. Pray forgive the belatedness of the response; as soon as I noticed your point, I did some further research to give you a more complete answer, which I hope forgives the delay.

The shadowvine and the feliolinx share a common and mundane ancestor: the clouded leopard. Although the modern clouded leopard is known to inhabit exclusively parts of China, India, and the Indonesian archipelago, its ancestors once had a much broader range before hunting and migration led to its current domicile. One such branch evolved through the tender care of the Mayans into the feliolinx. Of the two magical evolutions, the feliolinx looks much more similar to the clouded leopard. Its fur is silver in color, with swatches of black and white in the traditional clouded markings. Setting them further apart, their eyes tend to be extremely vivid, and in unusual colors, such as vibrant greens, blues, and violets. The feliolinx is very rare, believed by many to be extinct, and indeed, has actually been hunted towards this end. Its fur, besides being very soft and prized for ladies garments in Europe, is also highly useful in invisibility potions. This is a creature that responds highly to the cycles of the moon, its bite alternating between toxic and healing with each moon. Early magizoologists named these cycles the Violent Moon and the Serene Moon.

The feliolinx is a very solitary creature, generally only interacting with others of its species during mating season. Cubs born during the Violent Moon, when their bite is poisonous, tend to be very aggressive and violent. Cubs born during the Serene Moon, when their bite is healing, tend to be very passive, and often choose to hibernate during the Violent Moons. So far as anyone can tell, they have extremely long lifespans, but as none has ever been studied in captivity, nor for a full lifespan, it is really quite impossible to tell. Despite disdaining company of any sort, they can be made into extremely loyal and protective companions, as evidenced by Damayanti Diadema, one of our Founders, and head of Diadema House, which uses the feliolinx as her mascot.

Further research into Damayanti's journals provided a startling note: the shadowvines do not seem to be a new species, merely a newly re-discovered one. It was believed that until the reign of the Spanish Conquistadors, the Mayans held many strong and terrible spells in guardianship, keeping them from the use of anyone. Some believe that the rapidity of the Mayan downfall was influenced by the capture and use of these spells, though it is unknown precisely what they are. It is merely believed that the spells were very Dark in nature, and that they corrupted a great deal of what was around them. Thus, the sidetracking evolution of the shadowvines from the feliolinx began. Being Dark, its bite could no longer heal or it would be against its very nature, so the moon cycle shortened to follow the path of the single course, being either toxic or non-toxic depending on the salutation of the moon. It came to abhor light, keeping instead entirely to darkness, and adapting to use it as a camoflauge, whereupon its eyesight also shifted to make up for less light. Due to its nocturnal habits, it developed a more pointed, almost fox-like muzzle useful in digging down into burrows and catching the sleeping smaller creatures. It is unknown when the spined tail or the bony fan behind the neck came in, as the shadowvine disappeared from human contact until just recently. The same mystery surrounds the tendrils of shadow that, in their non toxic phase, can actually be used as limbs or tentacles of a sort.

I hope this helps you, Tyler, Merlin forbid you ever having to actually need it again. There are rumors here, though I can't offer any proof of them, that Damayanti's companion feliolinx is still alive and keeping an eye on the school. Students over the past half-millenia have made claims of seeing it prowling about the grounds, but when someone else rushes to the spot, the creature, if indeed it was there, is no longer present.

Regards,

Avram Michaels

Tourgique Institute of Enchantment

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Carr,

I had a dream that I was sitting underneath an almond tree with Callum, and we were reading a book, when all of a sudden, out of a clear sky, lightning hit the almond tree and split it in two. Then I woke up. Any insight?

-Cli

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Cli-

You do realize that an almond tree stands for virginity, right? Something you need to share with the rest of the class? Or at least me?

-Carr

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Carr-

What did you say to Cli? I can't even remember the last time she blushed that darkly.

-Kush

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Kush-

She had a dream that an almond tree was split in two by lightning when she and Callum were underneath it reading a book. Did you know about this?

-Carr

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Carr-

I might have. Well, the event, not the dream. What book?

-Kush

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Cli-

What book were you reading?

-Carr

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Carr-

I really didn't look that closely.

-Cli

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Kush-

She doesn't know.

-Carr

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Carr-

Maybe it was the Guide to Getting It On?

-Kush

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Girls,

While I appreciate your devotion to the art of dream interpretation, do not pass notes during my class, or I will in fact force you to reveal the contents aloud. Is that understood?

-Prof. Bloodthorne

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Yes, sir.

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Yes, sir.

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Eeps. Yes, sir.

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Dear Cliona,

I'm not entirely sure how to answer you, dear.

Let me start by saying, I am glad. Humans have a very different outlook on sex than wolves, and it can't be easy for you to be caught between both worlds as you are. It is a natural thing, though, and certainly the world is not going to stop at it. I hope you enjoyed it, and let me assure you, if you haven't found out already, that the second time is much, much better than the first. Far less pain.

As a healer, let me ask: are you all right? Any lingering pain?

As both healer and mother: did you use protection? I have no fear of diseases, but then, children can't exactly be counted as diseases, can they?

As a mother: how are you feeling about all this? I know it's a big step, and it can be hard to deal with if you're not ready for it. And, I wouldn't say it's truly so short a time in which you've become attached. Wolves know their mates. I'm sure Callum has told you some of Remus' former idiocy, but all it took was seeing him for the first time after gaining my Animagus form for me to realize that my crush wasn't simply that. I was looking at my mate, whether he realized it or not. You two have known each other for almost a full year now, do you realize? You're only three months shy of that mark. I would call them an amazing length of time, considering the strong call of the wolf within you. I think I know you well enough from what Callum and Remus have said, and what I have seen of you, to know that you don't do anything without thinking about it first. It may have gone a bit father than you had planned on, but that, my dear Cliona, is simply a part of getting caught up in the moment.

Fondly,

Ginny

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Tyler-

What was the outcome of your discussion with Kushiel? What did her boggart mean?

-Kraven

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Dear Avram,

I am more than content to drop the formality. Thank you very much for the information, it was indeed a great help. I can even offer you another piece, if you like, that didn't seem to be known about shadowvines before. Their bite, if in the toxic phase, renders the wound resistant to magic and slow to heal. If in either the very beginning or very end of the toxic phase, it will still heal, depending upon the severity of the other wounds and the health of the victim of course. Do you have any sketches of the feliolinx? One of my students, who was one of the victims of the shadowvines, was curious to see the parallel. Enclosed for your own records is a sketch of the shadowvines, in unexpected detail. There are also sketches from an autopsy we performed on one of the left behind bodies.

Sincerely,

Tyler Ward

Avsitrum Academy of Sorcery

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Dear Cuan,

I'm fine. Alright? Just fine.

I say furious is not the right word simply because what you did was beyond any betrayal you could have done to me. I would have rather caught you snogging some little chit, than feel the hurt you caused. You had no right. You could have asked. You think I would have sidestepped? You just assumed. You didn't give me the chance, nor the choice. Every day I have to make choices. Simple ones from what shoes to match _amber_ eyes, to much more drastic decisions apparently, deciding who lives or dies.

One month… One moon I have watched come and go with out seeing you. We were supposed to have a date last month… remember? Even though it was the full moon… I was looking forward to playing fetch with you. Snuggling up in front of the fireplace returning to the chapter we left off on in the Claiming of Belle et la Bete.

Remember where we left off? I do… It was quite naughty. Belle had just defied the Beast… and he was going to punish her.

You call me devious? That hurts. I may not tell you everything, but I have always been truthful with you. It is not a lie to omit things, it is just being cautious.

Don't forget Cuan, that time wounds all heals.

Apparently, you do not know me as well as you thought you might have.

I can change my face, my entire appearance, but I cannot change the scars upon my heart. To be truthful, since that is what you want. You got into my blood. You got under my skin, quite literally. You have gotten closer than anyone ever has, and to be quite frank, that scares me. And then, you dose me with an illegal drug, instead of giving me the chance to show you how deep you've infected me.

When it comes to the death of little Tisha… You don't get it! I Saw pain! I Saw hurt. But I didn't do anything! She was so young, she never even got to play a romping game of Battle at the Hexagon, or to camp with us in the Great Hall. Why? Because I didn't warn anyone. Cassandra's Curse, non? I was too wrapped up in a match on the pitch to tell anyone of the glimmers I Saw. My own needs came first. And guess what, I got everything I wanted. I've been approached by a scout. The Jersey Jabberwocks want me. And because I was so bent on winning that game, I failed an innocent child.

Carriegan

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Dear Da,

The author's name is Galileo Schulter, and it should be cross-sectioned in both Mythology and Astronomy.

As for the rest, I tell you simply that I am my mother's daughter, and my nanan's granddaughter. Take from that however much comfort you may.

Bises,

Kush

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Dear Ginny,

I daresay I enjoyed myself as much as possible, maybe even more so. Feel free to imagine my goofy grin right here.

As far as pain goes, I'm fine. My back is a fair bit bruised, which means I can't really sit against anything and I have to lie on my stomach, but my back was by far the worst of my injuries

As for protection, I have no fear of disease. Callum and I were each other's first, so there was no risk involved in that department. However, we didn't have any protection as far as I know, so we didn't use any. I'm not on any pills or potions, and I don't think Callum was expecting to need a condom, nor was I.

I must admit I'm a little conflicted in my emotions. My mother always took a more practical approach to the matter, but my father was always very strict with the way he thought these things should be done. My mother would most likely look at the situation very much like you have, but my father would most likely be furious. I'm not exactly sure how I feel, because I have both views so ingrained in my head.

I hadn't realized that it had almost been a year. I suppose that is a rather decent amount of time when I really think about it. I'm glad I waited for Callum though. I really do think he is my mate.

Yours,

Cliona

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Dear Tyler,

Yes, thank you! That is greatly appreciated! I have included a copy of a sketch made of the feliolinx by Séraphine Sollers, another of our founders, who was quite handy with a quill and charcoal. As one of Damayanti's friends and co-Founders, she had ample opportunity to observe the creature. I cannot offer any autopsy notes, but she had an entire sheaf of sketches and detailed drawings, including some paw and claw tracings and teeth indentions.

In addition, Picti, our resident Salamander, has consented to have some of his blood drawn if your student is still in the process of healing. He is quite an unusual creature, but the elves translate for him, and he says that his blood combined with a simple Cleansing Draught will render the toxins insoluble and they'll actually come out of the bloodstream at the point of origin, meaning the wound itself. As soon as the last of the toxins is removed, the wound can be healed as it normally would be, by magic. If your student is still in need of it, we would be more than happy to send a vial along, and he has volunteered it without being asked, so you need have no worry about any tinges of Darkness of Intent interfering with the healing.

Regards,

Avram Michaels

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Dear Kush,

You're not helping my state of mind, and thank you for the author. I picked it up, and am quite enjoying it when I can get a moment to read it. Rhonwyn mentioned that your mother used to have projects to keep her busy; do you know any of them that I can recommend to her to pick back up? Even if just for an hour a day? I am truly fond of her Kush, and I believe I may actually be falling in love with your mother, which I never expected to do if I'm honest with myself, but she's driving me absolutely insane. I think it must be a measure of how much I've changed, but I need her to have a project. I'm sure you understand that; it's the same thing your sister used to do to you.

Love,

Da

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Blue Eyes,

I can't change what I did. I'm not going to lie and say I'm sorry for it, because I don't know yet if I am.

I've missed you. Plain and simple, I have missed you. But I won't get down on my knees and beg you to forgive me, and I won't break apart. Despite the fact that you're nearly all I think about, I can't stand the idea of just being your toy. You mean far too much to me. I would rather see you turn away from me now than leave me when you graduate, off to be footloose and fancy free in the world at large. At least this way I wouldn't think myself an inconvenience. If you want, I'll leave you alone, like I said. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.

And, obviously, you're not. You may be nearly healed physically, but you're taking too much on yourself mentally and emotionally. You're being selfish, Blue Eyes. Do you really think you're going through anything new? That this kind of guilt hasn't been felt by millions of people before you? What about the men in the government charged with apprehending Her? How many people have died? I'm not just talking about at the school, Blue Eyes, I'm talking about across the country. No one is going to die without someone else feeling responsible for it. Humans don't like death, and feel the bizarre need to rationalize it.

Forgive me for being characteristically blunt, but people die. Yes, it's sad that Tisha will never live another day. It's sad that she won't go on a first date, won't take her exams, won't graduate, won't get a career, won't marry and have children and grandchildren galore. It's sad for _us_. You really think she knows the difference? She doesn't know anything anymore, Blue Eyes. She's someplace else. I won't presume to tell you what that someplace else is, but Tisha Havern is never going to feel the lack. We're the ones who are without her, we're the ones who miss her. You're not God, Carriegan. You don't get to make those kinds of decisions. You did your best.

Have you talked to Professor Bloodthorne about this? I imagine he's got a fair amount of experience in Seeing things he can't change; maybe talking with him would give you some perspective.

I'll leave you alone, since I've obviously hurt you too badly. I wish you well, Blue Eyes, whatever you plan to do. I'm sure Bunny will keep me updated, and though you may scoff at it, you'll be in my prayers. Whoever you do eventually settle down with will be one lucky guy, and I only hope he's smart enough to realize that, and to treat you well.

L, Cúan

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Hey Little Sister,

Just dropping you an owl to let you know that things didn't work out between me and your friend. We've decided to go our separate ways, as she has other things to focus on right now. This is a mutual decision, so don't go blaming it all on Blue Eyes, okay? You're my Bunny, not my protector, and I don't need you reverting to your old habits of fisticuffs. Mam would probably cry if she heard of you descending that far to the level of tomboy again.

Talk to you later,

Cúan

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Dear Da,

Rhon said she put all of her projects in the library and locked them there; ask Hawthorn. He adores the library, and would probably know where she hid them. If he proves resistant, first try convincing him that it's to Mum's benefit to take up one of her projects again. If he still proves reluctant, get Thorn to bake orange cinnamon rolls with far more icing that most people can stand and give them to him. Hawthorn is a very loyal elf, but he is not unsusceptible to bribery. And try pulling out her project on the nature and essence of spells and curses; I have research for a tangent that I can send her to get her excited about it again if you can get her mildly interested.

And I have no idea what you mean when you said Rhon used to give me distractions; she still does.

Bises,

Kush

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Dear Cliona,

I'm very glad to hear that you enjoyed it. Too many unfortunate girls have their first times utterly botched, and it turns them off sex for the rest of their lives. I enjoy it far too much to even envision such a thing.

I confess it worries me that you had no protection, but it's not the end of the world. We'll see what happens. There are many different options you can take, after all and it's entirely up to you and Callum. My own mother was six months pregnant with Bill when she and my father were married, and though I will deny it endlessly if you were ever to tell my mother, I wasn't much different. I was only two months pregnant, but there you are. After all, what's marriage when you already know you're going to spend the rest of your life with that person? Just a formality. And it is, of course, more than possible that there's absolutely nothing to worry about. A woman doesn't become pregnant every time she has unprotected sex, or the world would be absolutely overrun with children.

I can understand being conflicted, and the only advice I can offer is the find your own way. Always listen to what your parents have to say, but ultimately, the only one that can decide how you feel about something is you.

At the risk of frightening you, I have to tell you that you make Callum happier than anything I've ever seen. I know that Heidi is also grateful to you, and you should feel free to write her if you wish, though I wouldn't suggest telling her about sleeping with her baby brother. He positively glows when you're around, and it isn't entirely hormones. Though there's only ten years difference between us, I think of him much more as a son than as a brother, which means that my protective instincts are at their absolute height, but I trust his heart to your sakekeeping. He utterly adores you, Cliona, and I hope you know how precious a gift that is.

Fondly,

Ginny

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Dear Kush,

Hawthorn says thank you, and so do I. You are a genius, and if you can send along that research, your mother and I will both be grateful. How is it that you don't need this research though?

Love,

Da

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Dear Avram,

I think you've just been nominated for sainthood amidst the halls of Avistrum. We had three students who were bitten, and while they have been dealing with it rather stoically, it would be a great relief to all of us if we were able to heal them and have done with it. Thank you very much, and please render our gratitude unto Picti, as well.

Sincerely,

Tyler Ward

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Cuan,

I have delayed writing to you as long as I could. Your sweet sister has decided to take it upon herself to try to knock some… what was the word she used? Ah yes… she decided to knock some sense into me the good ol' fashion'd werewolf way. I am sure you've heard all the details of it, but I daresay I believe it worked.

I have not yet ceased the tears that have been falling from my _black_ eyes. Not because of the beating your sister gave me, not for Tisha. But for not having you.

I had a nightmare the other night. To be honest it was a result of your letter. I say that not to make you feel guilt, but just to explain the circumstances.

I awoke in a cold sweat, and realized I don't ever want to get to the point where you do not know me. You, you who could find me in the darkest pitch, just by my scent.. even with out my scent, I know you'd find me.

Or at least, you used to be able to find me. I don't know anymore. I think my own defensive nature might have finally defended too much losing you in the process. Anyway, it was the full moon. I was in the woods with you. But you did not know me. There was something wrong, I don't know if you had forgotten your potion, or if you were just angry. But you did not know me, and you were ready to attack.

My leg still hurts from the attack, but I think I'd rather run free in the woods with you right now than let it cripple me more.

I realize that the moon is near upon us again, but it might be nice to return to that picnic we never finished. (Though, without the special addition to the drinks, if you'd be so kind.)

Yours aye,

Blue Eyes

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Kraven-

She fears the chance of becoming like Persephone. It's not been, until now I think, a conscious feat, but rather one that creeps and stalks at the periphery. Now, however, I believe it to be fully realized.

I gave them a free period in Arithmancy today, to study for their test or catch up on homework, whatever they needed. Kush pulled up the equation sets for personality determination and started running them for herself and what she knows of Persephone, which you and I both know is a rather significant amount. I don't know her exact results, because she flatly refused to share them, but she left the class very pale and withdrawn. Kraven, I honestly don't know what to tell her, not when the similarities are so obvious. _We_ both know that the essential differences are there, the pieces that will keep her from ever becoming a junior version of Her, but for all her maturity and wisdom, I think we forget sometimes that she's still a self-conscious eighteen year old. Maybe you can find something that she'll take more to heart, but I can't think of anything that doesn't sound empty and easily shot down.

Oh, and I finally found out what they were saying in that giggly conversation you warned me about. Apparently Adante betrayed his age by referring to my "pussy" as being "voracious", when all he really meant was the that the kitten was attacking the food like it was going to run away. It seems the girls found that amusing.

-Tyler

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Dear Da,

I think I've just been dealing too intimately with all of the mess surrounding Persephone and her minions to have much of a patience for curses and such anymore. I am still very interested in finding it, but I think I could be content to see someone else do it, if my foundations could provide any help on it. I know it could greatly assist in endeavours if I had the heart to work on it and managed to make any headway, but it's just….I can't focus on it, for some reason. As if in some manner, being washed in Dark Magic and Dark Beasts has just taken away my will to study Darkness any further. I know it's not an actual spell or curse by any stretch of the imagination, but that's the best way I can come up with to explain it.

Actually, it may also partially be that my enthusiasm has taken a new path: History of Magic. I've always enjoyed it, but I have absolutely fallen in love with it, and in what little spare time I've had, Professor Avarra has been giving me other things to read for my own enjoyment. Yesterday, he loaned me a book called _Parley_, by Sarah Keybroke. You might remember (or you might not, this was back in your oblivious days) Mum trying to decide which school to send me to; the final two she was considering were Avistrum and Tourgique. She finally chose Avistrum because Professor Snape highly recommended Professor Bloodthorne as both a teacher and a Head of House, and it's not like there was ever any doubt where I'd be. In 1720, Tourgique was actually under attack by a trio of wizard pirates. The book details that battles and such that took place, and is written by the school's librarian, actually present and part of it all. I love it so far, and Professor Avarra has promised to get me in touch with Andros Kelly, the History of Magic professor at Tourgique, to possibly see about doing an apprenticeship. If so, then I would actually get to see the school, and the cove, and the ships. The _Sea Wench_ stays in harbor at all times, but _Death's Doorstep_ and the _St. Elmo's Fire_ usually come in and summer there, when they're not off sailing. These ships are a little over three hundred years old! Can you imagine? Needless to say, I'm rather excited about that possibility.

Bises,

Kush

P.S.-Enclosed is the research for Mum, and can you ask her to make an extra copy for Rhonwyn? She says she needs something to keep her occupied other than staring at Nanan's pool boys.

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Dear Mam,

I know that I just sent a letter home to the family, but this one is of a very sensitive nature. I don't think I need to ask you to keep this to yourself; I know that all of my letters directed to you are in the safe hands and closed lips of our mother daughter correspondence code.

I don't know how to word this to soften any blow that this news might have or to make myself feel any less awkward, so I will just tell you plainly. Your only daughter and your youngest child is no longer a virgin. I just...I couldn't wait any longer. The pull of instinct and hormones was too strong for me to handle with a male around I actually like. I may actually even love him, Mam. Callum's everything I never knew I wanted, and he's everything Aidan never could be. I honestly believe the wolf inside thinks of him as my life-mate.

As for all of your motherly concerns, I'm fine. My back is very bruised, but that's just about my only worry. I know your views on this matter differ from Da's, and you're probably thinking that it was inevitable considering the time and season. I just want you to know that I believe that I was ready. Things may have been a bit rushed, but I don't think I could have chosen a better partner than Callum. He was as gentle as he could be, all things considered. It was a very good first experience; I honestly enjoyed myself, and I felt this odd sense of tranquility when we had finished.

I must admit that Da's particular form of brainwashing has had a bit of effect though; my feelings are a little jumbled up considering the attack happened almost directly after I lost my virginity. The two events were in no way connected, yet I still feel conflicted. I really suppose I am partially my father's daughter. Not enough though apparently, seeing as I threw caution to the wind and thrived on pure instinct for a few blissful moments. I suppose my confusion might not clear up too easily, but I'll assume that, if I choose to have sex with Callum again any time soon, I'm more of one mind with you than with Da.

Your baby bunny,

Cli

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Blue Eyes,

Forgive me if the letter is short; I'm scratching it out while trying to convince Mam to help me persuade the Headmaster to let me come visit. He's concerned for all of you, which is good, but it makes it damn hard to come visit. I'm trying my damnedest to come, and I'll ask if I can stay for next full moon.

By the by, what was the key for? I hung it on my belt like you asked, but I am a little confused.

L, Cúan

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Dear Tyler,

Enclosed, please find two vials of Salamander's Blood. Picti says that the pair will be enough for all three bites, so no fears on that regard. I'm sure it is somewhat odd for you to be following the directions of a Salamander, but Picti was originally familiar to Séraphine Sollers, who was our healer for many, many years, so he learned a great deal in that association.

Also, on behalf of the Tourgique Institute of Enchantmnet, I'd like to offer my condolences upon the death of Tisha Havern. We hadn't connected the transfer of Mister Havern with the reported death, as no names were released in the paper, but the loss of any child is too dear.

Regards,

Avram Michaels

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Dear Kush,

In talking with your mother, she says that Professor Bloodthorne was not the only reason she ultimately chose Avistrum; apparently Tourgique's Deputy Headmistress Jackellan is quite a battle ax, and your mother worried that the two of you would go toe to toe and you'd be expelled within the year. As long as you would end up at Avistrum anyway, why not just start there? She was laughing so hard she was nearly crying when she told me this; I think you should make the most of meeting the woman when you get a chance.

I'll admit, I was hoping you might come back to Ireland, or even to England, for an apprenticeship, but if I have learned nothing else, I have learned that you are your own person, and you will do as you will. At least with an apprenticeship, you'll be able to visit more if you like. Good luck in that, and please keep us posted.

Love,

Da

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Dear Ginny, Thank you for your understanding. Maybe I will write Heidi sometime soon; I should like to get to know her better. As for sleeping with her baby brother, you should know that there wasn't any sleeping involved that didn't happen months ago. Just to assuage any fears you might have had that I would be preggers, I've gotten my period. Keeping Callum's heart safe, Cli

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Hey, Kush. Why were your cheeks all pink when you came back in last night? Carr

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Carr, I went flying last night. Cold wind at high speeds can make cheeks pink and chapped. Did you know that? –Kush

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Kush, _you_ went _flying_? Carr

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Carr-Professor Ward and I got into a discussion of the song _Bicycle Built For Two_, and I said it seemed rather silly in the wizarding world, I mean, whoever heard of a broomstick built for two? So he decided he would prove his point, and took me for a ride about the pitch. Besides, just because I don't play Quidditch doesn't mean I don't like to fly. –Kush

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Kush-And just which broomstick of his were you riding on? Carr

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Carr, get your head out of the gutter. At least until graduation, anyway. –Kush

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Squee! I knew it! I KNEW you had a thing for him! –Carr

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And we're going to keep all this veeeeeeery quiet, aren't we, Carriekins? –Kush

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Diamonds? Duh. Hearts

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Dear Mum,

Your life just will not be complete unless one your daughters manages to seduce one of her professors, will it? Most mothers would be absolutely horrified to even think of such a thing, but you, you actively encourage it!

But yes, you are correct. Professor Ward, whom I have respected and admired since third year, has risen sharply in my estimation. I will even venture to say at the risk of jinxing myself that he may actually return the sentiment. Certainly he demonstrates a strong affection that is markedly different than the fondness with which he treats, for example, Cliona and Carriegan. I do not believe he will do anything not easily defended until after I graduate, but Cliona assures me I have every reason to hope after that. She always used to tease him when he would do a bed check in the Enigmus dorms after one of his dates, because she could smell the females on him. She said he hasn't been out on a date since before Christmas. We spend a lot of time out the hayloft of the barn (no, Mum, we're not necking), talking or just keeping company. We went flying a few nights ago. I couldn't sleep (surprise, surprise) so I was trolling about the grounds, and he saw me as he was coming out of the barn. Normally when I go prowling, I'm accompanied by one of the ghosts (because the Headmaster realized he couldn't stop my wandering, but didn't want me going around unescorted), but he waved off Estel Leeds and we walked towards the Pitch. He was humming under his breath at one point, which led to an involved debate on the virtues of things being built for two, and to prove his point, he took me flying. He found one of the learner brooms, much longer than normal so that the instructor can actually go up with any student that's too terrified. Would you believe, Mum, that for a few moments, just looking up at the stars with his arms around me, flying in slow circles about the pitch, I didn't have any bad thoughts? I didn't think about Persephone, I didn't think about the minions, or the death tolls, or even the worst of all evils, HAWKS, which are coming up way too soon. I just enjoyed the moment.

He smells _really_ good.

So yes, the corruption of the de Navarre women continues in steady pace, with your daughter keeping her sights set on the highly inappropriate goal of one of her professors. Rejoice and be glad, for some legacies never die. Rhon would say I'm being fickle, but fickle is for less pragmatic people, I think.

I'm sure Nanan will be jumping for joy, if she can be assured of one of the pool boys watching. How has Grandpère survived her all these years? And how on earth has she managed to be actually faithful?

Love Always,

Kush

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My RieRie,

I am so happy to hear about The Jersey Jabberwock try outs. Though, I must admit that it saddens me that you will not be able to continue working for me in my shop. I know, I know you have said that you are more than willing to come and work part time, and you know I will be taking you up on that once you have your schedule worked out after school. Actually, if you end up having some time before you have to run off to your great Quidditch career, you know you are more than welcome to spend that time with me.

No, I have not yet found a replacement for you yet at the shop. You were my best and brightest intern, which is of course natural since you take after me. (Yes, I am still trying to convince you to work for me instead of that Quidditch team, but I am sure I will never actually be able to convince you.) Though, business has been booming here at our new location. Having The Tourgique Institute of Enchantment just up the road, and the satellite boutique in New Atlantis has just been making my year! All the students at Tourgique get their supplies from me, and come in to and get my brews all the time. I'm very happy with the home I've made here.

In regards to your last post, I cannot say wither or not your mother has been enlightened to your recent club events. But, I can pretty safely say that she won't be bothered. Don't worry, she has been quite busy with the New England Witches Ball, and has hardly spoken to anyone.

Well, I have to end this note here, as it looks like the latest shipment of Betwineding flowers just arrived, and poor little Vindorien cannot handle it. Honestly.. he is not nearly as capable as you. I might have to send him up the road to the school to just get a refresher course as he's driving me crazy!

Love always,

Auntie Ellette

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Dear Kush,

Just because we like to look, and occasionally pinch, it doesn't follow that we must then follow through. I have my father's eyes, though, so I know she didn't cheat to get me.

Your Professor Ward sounds almost too good to be true, precious; be careful. Besides, we parents are supposed to be all about making sure our children get farther than we did; I only kissed a professor. Of course I want you to be more successful. I'll settle for a thorough snogging if you think he'll abide by the letter of the rules, if not the spirit of them, but I expect results from you, young lady.

And your da is now looking over at me with an extremely worried expression; apparently it makes him nervous whenever I laugh too hard or too long over a letter to or from you. I can't for the life of me imagine why.

On a more serious note, precious, I am very proud of the way you've handled the news of your sister's pregnancy. I haven't heard from Professor Bloodthorne that you blew anything up or destroyed the common room, so I can only assume you've found a healthy way to deal with it. Or you could be pacing the lake till all hours, for all I know, but still. I'm proud of you. This isn't easy on anyone, certainly not on Rhonwyn and Pierce, but I know it's very hard for you, as well. Your sister's off on yet one more thing that you haven't experienced, and I think, knowing you, probably won't experience for some time. She's content to settle down, but you have too much thirst in you to settle so quickly. Right now, in between naps, she's trying to contain Pierce to the more manageable mythological names. For some bizarre reason, she doesn't want a set of twins named Sisyphus and Sarpedon. Yes, you can imagine me rolling my eyes here; I think the names are downright ridiculous. I think she's trying to steer him away from having the names start with the same letter, but I don't know how successful she'd be on that front. Did you know that everyone in his family, with the exception of his mother, have names starting with P? His mother married into it, so she can't be blamed, but he says that one of his uncles jokingly calls his mother Parbara, rather than Barbara. I can't even begin to fathom it.

Your Grandmother is still in exile, as it were, and much to her dismay, Papa Lauren is having the time of his life with Aunt Siobhan and her boys. He is getting to know his grandsons, and too, he is finding friends among your aunt's male harem. He writes glowingly of Tomas and Pryderi, both of whom, he says, have expressed an interest in learning the woodcraft and carving skills that are the joy of your Papa's days. I have a feeling that your Grandmother will be forced to abide her daughter's company more often now, once this whole mess in reconciled, and I can't decide who I feel sorrier for.

Wish me luck! I go to beard the harridan in her den. Rhonwyn and Pierce had said that if she will swear to keep herself to the dowager house, and set foot nowhere near the main house, they will return to Mab's Eyrie to let the elves familiarize themselves with the unborn wee ones and continue to oversee the much needed renovations. We shall see if she will listen to reason. If not, I will at least have more amusing tales to tell you the next time I write.

Love Always,

Mum

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Clark-

I just got back from the Hexagon, and I'm not waking you up at four in the morning to report in person. Deal with it.

They've finally received something from the Sculptor, as they're styling him now. They took your suggestion of putting the spellglass around it until it could be analyzed (Miss Chantrea and Miss Hepburn should really patent that spell, it will earn them a fortune). They've determined that it is not like Mister da Lucca's _Psycho Benedictus_, which is essentially the only useful thing they've learned. Other than that, the statue is life-sized and made of grey veined white marble. The subject is a young woman arched severely backwards, her body in a rictus of pain; her face, once they used a spell to smooth her features in a photograph, matched a Missing Persons Report filed two weeks ago by the San Celina Police Department out in California. The subject was a Muggle, 23 years of age, named Maggie Tuarte. That's the most they know.

The reason _I_ was called rather than _you_ is that their Divinations Department had something they wanted me to see. Last week, Evangelion Herare, one of the Dreamers attached to the Department, had a vision of a sea of stone that cried out in pain. They wouldn't have thought anything of it, probably, it the gift hadn't arrived soon after. Last night, she dreamed it again, but this time, a pounding waterfall cut through the sea of stone, dried roses floating serenely on the water. It doesn't give us much to go on.

The Muggle Count has risen to 57, the Wizarding Count to 123, of people missing between now and when Rafael da Lucca was captured. Either She's getting smarter or Her minions are, but either way, we are losing ground, if we assume we ever had any to begin with.

-Kraven


	21. At the Very Leash

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter world, nor Avistrum, nor any of the songs. I am not, however, going to list off all the details on the songs. Suffice it to say, I do not own them.**

_A/N: Please review? Please please please please please please please please please please please please please?_

_A/N2: This is a mostly (not entirely, but mostly) silly chapter, but it's one we've been looking forward to since chapter five, so bear with us for this one._

**Chapter 21: At the Very Leash**

_Name: Rhys Levinson_

_Pseudonyms: The Musician, Pied Piper_

_Dates of Activity: April 2002-November 2002_

_Captured by: Clark Dowling, Dark Hunters_

_Skills: Exhibits strong ability at mind control, evidenced through his musical compositions. Music covers a broad range of genres, though his preferences seem to fall toward technological, zydeco, and certain classifications of classical, specifically requiems, dirges, dies irae, and nocturnes. Exhibits two distinct levels of control. The first acts as a more passive control, leading to his nomenclature as the Pied Piper, causing those who hear his music to head towards the source. This has a distinctly lower success rate when recorded, but the impulse is still there, it simply can be fought when not in person. The second is a full control kin to the Imperius curse; the sheet music is still in the labs to ascertain whether or not the Curse is actually spelled into it. Those hearing this music will do whatever is suggested by the subliminal messages within the music, which seem to be indications more of the artist's intent that actual instructions written into the music._

_Downfall: Ear plugs_

_Death toll: 58_

_Held under heavy guard under Alcatraz until May 15, 2003 before being transferred to the high risk containment cells under the Hexagon. Executed by imbibing of Hemlock, by prisoner's request, on May 23, 2003. Body was preserved and remains in study at the labs. _

_Name: Danu Desreines_

_Pseudonyms: Mama Alder, Lady of Winds_

_Dates of Activity: December 2002-July 2004_

_Captured by: Clark Dowling, Dark Hunters, 7th SWAT squadron (Bushwhackers)_

_Skills: Exhibits strong control over natural elements, specifically fire and wind. Skilled at carving penny whistles, flutes, and pipes, usually from the wood alder, whereupon the playing of the whistle would call and raise the winds. Often called fire and wind as one, additionally spelling curiosity spells into the instruments she sold that would cause bystanders to purchase or play them, wreaking havoc in many public areas, both wizarding and muggle. _

_Downfall: Non-specific_

_Death toll: 304_

_Killed in capture July 9, 2004, body remains preserved at the labs for study._

_Name: Verdandi Seligsdottir_

_Pseudonym: Siren_

_Dates of Activity: September 2004-April 2005_

_Captured by: Clark Dowling, Dark Hunters, 11th SWAT squadron (Pitbulls)_

_Skills: Incredibly accomplished vocalist, believed to have been at some point an associate/lover of the Musician. Exhibited many of the same talents in control, both passive and active. Also possessed a magically enhanced range that could cause damage within the human body, specifically at the highest ranges. Assisted by Her with the creation of masks to perfectly disguise herself so as to continue giving public performances and recitals._

_Downfall: Ear plugs, cracked mask_

_Death toll: 187_

_Held until May 15, 2005 under heavy guard in Alcatraz, transferred to high security containment cells in Hexagon. Execution date moved, per prisoner's request, to May 23, 2003; executed by application of Killing Curse. Body is preserved and held in labs for further study._

_Name: Rafael da Lucca_

_Pseudonym: the Painter_

_Dates of Activity: June 2005-February 2006_

_Captured by: Dark Hunters_

_Skills: Sketch artist and painter, preferred mediums oil a/o acrylic on canvas. Employed an ancient spell entitled _Psycho Benedictus_ to invest the ghost of a soul in the painting to make attachments to the soul of the viewer. Strong method of control, much like the Imperius, and incited its victims to extreme violence. Wreaked havoc in circles of the wealthy muggle artistic-effete. Distinguished as the first minion to directly attack the Dark Hunters at their source, the Avsitrum Academy of Sorcery._

_Downfall: Attached curiosity_

_Death toll: 53_

_Through extenuating circumstances, the Painter will not be executed, and is held in maximum security at Alcratraz starting February 11, 2006.. Has freely entered into extensive interviews with researchers and analysts. Will serve a life sentence without possibility of parole._

_Name?_

_Psuedonym: the Scupltor_

_Dates of Activity: February 2006-?_

_Captured by: N/A_

_Skills: Still unknown. Mode of operation seems to be kidnapping his victims, but more than that has not yet been discovered._

_Downfall: N/A_

_Death Toll: Unknown_

_Still at large._

Sighing, Kushiel set down the reports and calmly started banging her forehead on the flat of her desk in the staff room.

"Does that help?" Her Head of House's voice asked dryly behind her.

"It loosens the bark so the desk will grow better," she answered flippantly. She shifted around in her chair, legs dangling over the back of it, and quirked an eyebrow at the sight that met her eyes. "How can there be a mission when you don't know anything?"

Professors Ward and Bloodthorne and Headmaster Dowling stood in a ragged line before her, the black leather dusters they normally wore on missions closed about them, which was in itself unusual. Their habit was to let the armor show; it was an intimidation thing, or so they claimed. The Eye of Horus blazed about the Headmaster's right eye, the black cowboy hats pulled low to cast their faces in shadow.

"Not a mission," Clark replied, leaning against the ginormous oval table in the center of the room. "We've been called to the Hexagon on a conference of pure speculation."

"Ah. Sounds fun." She cocked her head to one side, her hands gripping the edge of the chair back on either side of her legs, her heels kicking lightly against the back of the seat. "Any particular reason you're coming to say goodbye? I mean, I'm touched, to be sure, but I can't recall that I was ever in the loop of need-to-know."

Clark made a slight face as he heard Kraven and Tyler snorting behind him. "If you should happen to find anything in your research, you can go to Professor Kobiyashi," he told her. "She'll be in charge while we're gone."

"Okay. Have fun storming the Hexagon." Kushiel grinned a cheeky goodbye to the other two professors and turned around to get back to her study, though it was seeming somewhat fruitless at the moment. She heard, rather than saw, the three men leave the room, the door closing quietly behind them.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Guess what!"

"You've been making out too much with my brother and suddenly have a craving for raw steak?"

Carriegan made a face as she sat down at the library table with Cliona and Kushiel. Leaning forward, she kept one eye out for Mister Argiletum. "I just found out that Howl is doing a Karaoke night tonight. We have to go."

"No!" Kushiel and Cliona protested at once, their voices echoing slightly in the library. They winced as their friend shushed them urgently, and they all waited in silence in case footsteps came near their retreat in the back.

"Are you crazy?" Cliona continued. "They still haven't let us off property since New Year's."

"The Headmaster and Professor Bloodthorne are both gone," she told them. "Fineus was making plans to prank them, but they got called to the Hexagon. They're the only ones that are at all hard to get around, and they're completely a non threat. Tonight's the perfect night to go, and we haven't been anywhere in over two months. I don't know about you two, but I'm going stir crazy!"

"And you want to see Cúan," Kushiel pointed out absently, mulling over the risks involved. She quirked an eyebrow at Cliona. "You know, it is actually manageable."

"Kush!"

"Sweet!"

"And if it's Karaoke night, the crowd will be very different," she added. "Less risk, really, of doing anything that would get us in trouble if they did found out."

"And just TripletS," Carriegan announced. "So that's even less dangerous, because it'll only be the three of us, so we won't have to worry about coordinating across houses."

"I'm not in your house."

"No, but you might as well be, and your head of house is gone, too," she retorted. "Come on, Cli. Think about it. You can spend time with Callum without having to worry about any professors walking in and taking away points."

"I highly doubt she remembers to worry about it," Kushiel snickered, and the werewolf glared at her. "I'm in."

"Cli?"

Sighing, Cliona shook her head. "I'm in, if only to keep you two on a leash."

"Ooh, leash."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hein wiped out a clean glass, drying it off and setting it over the bar in its rack, keeping an eye out as he always did. The club was starting to fill, and while there were a fair number of regulars, there were some other faces there, too, faces that he only saw on the annual Karaoke night. Glancing towards the door, a slow smile crept across his face as his favorite girls came in. They saw him and waved, which he returned as they came towards the bar.

Cliona, who had always been the quieter, more subdued of the group was definitely coming out of her shell, he decided. Then again, the steady boyfriend might have been helping with that. She wore a tightly laced bodice and an extremely short skirt, both in black leather, with thigh hi fishnets and leather boots. A rhinestone studded collar encircled her throat, and attacked to it was a black leather leash whose handle could be found in Callum's hand.

The poor boy didn't look anymore comfortable in his clothes than the first time Hein had laid eyes on him. He wore a black beater with nearly painted on leather pants, his feet clad in clunky boots and his eyes rimmed in eyeliner. Leather cuffs surrounded his wrists and neck, studded with silver pyramids, and the hand not holding his girlfriend's leash kept running nervously through his auburn curls.

Carriegan had changed her hair for the occasion, adapting it to a short pixie cut with long side swept bangs in a vivid streak of blue against the black of the rest of it. It was obvious that leather was their thème du soir. A miniskirt clung tightly to her, open lacing up the sides revealing that there couldn't possibly be anything underneath it, the back fishtailing slightly so that it swished flirtingly. A bodice that cut off an inch or so below her bust line emphasized strongly certain attributes, draping leather laces crossing her collarbones making a tease at modesty. It too was open laced up the sides, with black knee high boots, a rhinestone studded collar, and leather leash to complete the ensemble.

The handle of her leash was held by none other than the newly reinstated boyfriend, whom Hein recognized as one of the Bunny Baiters. In a marked contrast to Callum, Cúan was entirely comfortable in the mesh shirt under the black wife beater, tight leather pants showing a similar freedom to his date. A black fedora perched on his slightly messy brown hair at a rakish angle.

Kushiel was once again pulling single, but with what she was wearing, he didn't have any doubt she'd attract company by the end of the evening, as she nearly always did. A bodicelet like Carriegan's cut down even lower, until the off the shoulder, stomachless black mesh shirt was the only thing keeping her in. Black leather pants so tight you could see her muscles moving hugged extremely low, rhinestone studded double thong straps curving out from the pants to tease along her full hips. The mesh continued down her arms, clinging down her hand to slide around her middle finger in triangles across the pale skin. Her collar was also rhinestone studded, but the other end of the silver chain link leash was looped around her own wrist, her blood red hair pulled back from her face but tumbling down her back in a spill of long curls, her emerald eyes heavily outlined in black. "Boyo!" She called as the quintet came to lean against the bar. "How have you been?"

"I haven't seen you lot around in quite a while," he noted. "What happened, your grades start slipping up at college?"

"Something like that," Carriegan giggled.

Seeing something across the club, Kushiel paled drastically and clutched at Carriegan and Cliona's arms. "Shit!"

"What is it?" the other girl asked, following the line of her friend's gaze. Her mouth fell open. "Oh, shit."

Puzzled, Hein looked towards the stage, where two men were currently performing _Livin la Vida Loca_ in black leather and mesh. "You know them?" he asked, an awful suspicion starting to creep into his mind.

"We might," Cliona hedged anxiously.

"Yes, especially if you're students at Avistrum who are sneaking out without permission," he snorted, and all five of them turned to him in astonishment.

"You know about Avistrum?" Carriegan asked after a moment.

"I graduated from Avistrum," he informed them with a smirk. "Three years behind your Headmaster there. Those three come every year for Karaoke night, though they occasionally bring some of the women with them, too. You'd best run before they see you."

"Too late," Kushiel groaned, seeing Tyler Wards eyebrows raise from his seat at a table near the stage. Clark and Kraven hadn't noticed them yet, but they would, and soon.

_Upside, inside out she's livin la vida loca  
She'll push and pull you down, livin la vida loca  
Her lips are devil red and her skin's the color mocha  
She will wear you out livin la vida loca Come On!   
Livin la vida loca, Come on!  
She's livin la vida loca._

"So how old are you guys really?" The bartender asked, his voice hard. He had no problem with giving alcohol to those above eighteen if they could convince the bouncers not to mark them, but younger than eighteen he drew the line.

As if sensing his thoughts, Kushiel shook her head. "We're all eighteen," she assured him. "I'm the youngest, and I turned at New Years."

"New Years."

"Yes…."

The shaven headed barkeep leaned forward so that his face was mere inches away from the redhead's. "Meaning that a certain hickey happened when you were still jailbait?"

"I certainly wasn't going to report it," she retorted, blushing slightly.

"Mmhmmm." He stood back up and regarded them thoughtfully. "You owe me, Diamonds, and I'll get that revenge tonight. As for the rest of you…" They winced and steeled themselves. "Here." Cautiously, they opened their eyes to see him pouring five tequila shots, shoving the salt and plate of lime slices towards them. "Drink up. You'll need it for your profs."

Laughing, they did as they were told, and thus sustained by the support of their favorite barkeep, Carriegan even whistled when Kraven turned and shook his leather-clad ass at the rest of the club.

"Come here, Diamonds."

Stifling a squeal of surprise, Kush allowed Hein to pull her leash away from her and tug on it until she perched up on the bar stool. From there, he reached out and lifted her over the bar, setting her on the inside edge. "I told you I'm getting my revenge," he reminded her. To the startled cheers of her friends, she submitted to the man's attack on her neck, her fingers clenching in his black silk shirt when he grazed a particularly sensitive spot with his teeth. When he pulled away, he left a large red spot ringed in a perfect bite mark on the side of the neck, with it showing every promise of turning into a brilliant hickey. "See, now you're legal," he chuckled.

"Um, the song is done," Callum pointed out quietly, and the redhead dove back over to the other side of the bar.

She was just in time, as it turned out, because Kraven and Clark, thirsty from their exertions up on the stage, decided to come over to the bar to remedy that problem. They didn't notice the girls at first, though Tyler winked from behind his two colleagues. "Coors Light and a Rum and Coke, please, Heinrich," Clark ordered for them both.

Hein got the requested drinks, knowing better than to use any kind of rum other than Captain Morgan's for Kraven's, and slid the glasses to them. "Is it wrong that it frightens me that you do that song every year?" he asked them conversationally, waiting to see if the girls would bolt or if they'd ride it out.

"They didn't have the instrumental track for the Numa Numa song," Kraven answered with a straight face, sipping from his drink.

"So how are things going up at the school?"

"About as well as can be expected, I suppose," Clark sighed. "But we didn't escape only to talk about it all night."

"Of course not," Hein agreed, grinning at the smirking girls. With only so recently learning that Hein was a wizard, they'd had no way to learn that he had been in Colubrae. They were about to find out. "Actually, though, could you give me an update on the Queens? I haven't seen them around in a while."

Coors Light spilled out in a pale amber stream over the polished surface of the bar. Clark didn't even notice the toppled drink. "THIS is the club they always came to!"

"Well, of course, why not?" Hein queried innocently, already reaching for a rag to wipe down that section of the bar.

"You have to be eighteen to get in the door!"

"But they are eighteen, aren't they?"

"They didn't used to be!"

Cliona snorted and promptly ducked down behind the side so she wouldn't be seen laughing silently.

"I've missed them," Hein commented. "They were always good for a laugh. That and they're really hot." He didn't miss Clark's blush or Tyler's appreciative grin. "Will you tell them I said hello?"

The sight of Clark gaping at his former classmate proved to be just too much for the girls, and they died laughing, leaning against each other as the merriment took control. Clark and Kraven's heads slowly turned, but the Head of Colubrae's only reaction was to sigh and drain his glass, holding it out to Hein for a refill.

"What the hell are you girls doing here?" Clark demanded furiously.

"It's Karaoke night," Kushiel told him ingenuously, green eyes wide and innocent.

"You were strictly forbidden from leaving the grounds."

"And you were supposed to be at the Hexagon," she pointed out sharply. "Whatever happened to respecting those who've died by not taking names and events in vain?"

"One-zero to Kush," Tyler murmured to Kraven, who merely shook his head and watched the impending train wreck.

"We were at the Hexagon," Clark countered, blushing. "The meeting finished and we came here."

"Rather than returning to the school and your charges? Because maybe, just maybe, with everything that's been going on, you need to get out and just relax for a night? Let loose with some friends, some booze, and some karaoke?"

"I think that makes it two-zero, Kush's favor," Kraven muttered.

"We are not students-"

"No, you're even primer targets, because you're the ones that have been pissing her off, and she blames you for making her cause the death of a child," she shot back.

"Three-zero."

"Will you two stop that!" Clark cried out, slamming his bottle down on the bar for extra emphasis.

"Clark, you're not going to win this one," Kraven pointed out reasonably. "You said yourself that you mean to lift the punishment some time ago and hadn't gotten around to it yet. And, at least this way, we're here to keep an eye on them, rather than sending them to look for someplace else to go crazy."

The Headmaster still looked mutinous, but eventually, he reluctantly nodded. "No booze," he ordered bluntly. He entirely missed the conspiratorial wink Hein gave the three students.

"We will not order any drinks," Kushiel promised him. Kraven nearly choked, but he didn't say anything, and she was beginning to think that the girls might have more allies on the faculty than it seemed.

"So do we fit in with your dress code, do you think?" Tyler asked them humorously as they came around to the front of the bar. They looked over all three men's clothing. Tight black leather pants slid over heavy boots, black beaters over mesh shirts. Their dusters, which had obviously been closed to hide the clothing at school, lay abandoned over chairs at their table near the stage, and only Tyler still had the black Stetson.

"You don't have a leash, sir," Carriegan pointed out. Without even blinking, she grabbed the handle of Kushiel's and held it out to him. "Here you go."

Ignoring what probably would have been Clark's protest if it had been finished, the six four redhead gravely accepted the leather handle, looping it around his wrist. "Thank you," he told her. "I would have been upset not to have matched."

"Sorry, sirs, no leashes for the two of you," Cliona chuckled, more relaxed now that they weren't getting in trouble. "No more girls, either."

"One of them didn't know what to do when he had one," Carriegan muttered under her breath, causing the other two queens to dissolve into laughter.

"Are you three going to go up?" Hein prodded, jerking his head towards the stage. "It is, after all, what you came here for."

"Absolutely!"

"The next person up left a few minutes ago green around the gills," he told them wickedly. "If you go up now, they'll sneak you in rather than making you wait."

All three dashed-well, started to dash. They were brought up rather short when the sharp tug reminded them of the leashes. Sheepishly, they returned the very small distance to claim the handles from their holders. "And just think," Kush sighed. "This is when we're sober." They escaped before any of the professors could make comment on that.

"Do you know what they're going to sing?" Clark inquired of Callum in resignation, but the healer shook his head.

"I didn't ask," he answered. "I didn't want to know."

They didn't have long to find out.

The girls stopped for a whispered word with the DJ running the karaoke machine, then mounted the stage, clumping around the mic to whistles and cheers from much of the male half of the audience. A few moments later, the opening sequence to _I Will Survive_ blared out through the speakers, the name of the song and the artist blinking across the large television screens facing the crowd for the lyrics.

"That's fairly mild," Clark breathed in relief.

Kraven and Tyler, who perhaps knew the girls much better, didn't comment, reserving judgment until all evidence had been gathered.

The trio waited until the proper point, grins splitting their faces, and launched into song.

_At first I was afraid  
I was petrified  
When you said you had 10 inches  
Lord, I almost died  
But I'd spent so many nights  
Just waiting for a man that long  
That I grew strong  
And I knew that I could take you on..._

But there you are  
Another lie!  
I was ready for a Big Mac  
And you've brought me a French fry  
I should have known it was so small  
Just a sad pathetic dream  
Have known there was no Anaconda  
Lurking in those jeans 

Go on now go  
Walk out the door  
Don't you promise me 10 inches  
Then turn up with only 4  
Weren't you a jerk to think I wouldn't notice it pop out,  
Don't you know we're only joking  
when we say size doesn't count?

I will survive  
I will survive  
Cuz as long as I have batteries  
my sex life's gonna thrive  
I will always have good sex  
with a handful of latex  
I will survive  
I will survive, hey hey!

It took all my self control  
not to laugh out loud  
When I saw your little wiener  
Standing small and proud  
But too bad about your ego  
And to hell with all your needs  
Now I'm saving all my loving  
For a cordless multispeed

Go on now go  
Just make a dash  
Last time I saw a dick that small  
I was treating nappy rash  
I should have asked for confirmation  
Should have asked for pictures, please!  
Then I wouldn't have you waving that   
wee winkie thing at me

Go on now go  
Just hit the track  
Don't you bring me home no little worm  
I'll always throw them back  
The only thing that I could do  
with a dick as small as yours  
is to stick it with a tooth pick  
and then call it a hors d'oeuvre!

I will survive  
I will survive   
Cuz as long as I have batteries  
my sex life's gonna thrive  
I will always have good sex  
with a handful of latex  
I will survive  
I will survive, hey hey!

Go on now go  
Get out of my sight  
I'm going back to my appliance  
Cuz I know its length is right  
And if I ever see your tiny pecker peckin' at my door  
You'll be counting your 4 inches  
as you pick them off the floor

Go on now GO!

"I should have known I was speaking too soon," murmured a wide eyed Clark.

Callum blushed fiercely. "Where do you even learn songs like that?"

"Why, curious?"

He gave Hein a withering glare.

Cliona marched up and grabbed Callum by the hand. "Come."

"Bunny, where are we-"

The others watched bemusedly as the pair disappeared around the corner to the bathrooms.

"Does Spades get a little excited after live performances?" Hein asked delicately, and the girls snorted as they joined them. While Clark was still staring after the normally mild Enigmite, Hein took advantage of his back to pour Carriegan and Kushiel shots of Jack, which they knocked back without blinking.

It was perhaps twenty minutes later that the pair returned, flushed and disheveled, in the middle of a very baaaaad rendition of _Unbreak my Heart_. Those audience members closest to the bathroom broke out into whistling cheers and applause.

"I don't want to know, I don't want to know, I don't want to know," Clark chanted to himself, and seeing as the man's eyes were closed, Hein sent scotch on the rocks flying towards both werewolves.

Carreigan could only laugh, snuggling against Cúan. It seemed Hein had his own agenda tonight, but as long as the girls were benefiting from it, she certainly wasn't going to complain. "We've seen the other two up already," she commented casually to Professor Ward. "Are you going up, sir?"

"In a few songs, I think," he told her, Kushiel's handle wrapped about his hand again.

Eying the gap thoughtfully, the redhead managed to squirm in between the Care of Magical Beasts professor and the bar, her back flat against his chest. "Hey, Hein, can the Yeti here get a Jameson?"

"Yeti?" he leaned down to murmur in her ear as the grinning bartender got a glass.

"You're over six foot tall, that makes you a yeti," she retorted.

"I'm a yeti," he mused.

"Dare we tell him the rest?" Carriegan snickered, taking long pulls from her HyperCaptain whenever Clark wasn't looking.

"The rest of what?"

In response to Kush's gesture, the metamorph leaned forward. "We gave you that name second day of third year," she confided, nearly yelling over the caterwauling emerging from the speakers. "You were tired as all hell, and at one point you caught yourself rambling, sighed, and started going 'yada yada yada'. So you got your name."

"What name?" he asked her, going back through it in his head to see if he'd missed it.

"Professor Yadayada Imayeti," the girls gasped, laughing helplessly.

"Tyler, you're up," Hein told him, and the tall man reluctantly handed Kush's leash off to him.

"Don't let her get away," he ordered with a wink and a saucy grin.

Cliona sidled up alongside Kush, nursing her scotch close to her side to keep it from the Headmaster's eye. "So I'm thinking you won't have the same problem with this one?"

"I'm thinking much along the same lines," Kush agreed. "Funny that."

"You know, in my days we had rules about students and professors."

They turned around to look at the bemused Heinrich. "We have rules about that," the redhead replied mildly. "We just treat them with the same respect we give all the other rules."

"Good to know."

The music started and Kushiel cheered as she recognized Cowboy Mouth, a band out of New Orleans that Professor Ward had introduced her to over Christmas. Tyler had a wonderful voice, if partially unsuited for the twang of the song, but he was having a lot of fun doing it, and milking the cowboy hat for all it was worth.

_Here I sit in prison, guilty of a crime_

_Yes, it's true, I killed a man, but it was justified_

_Yes, he was a friend of mine, he came into my home_

_Made off with my woman, and left me here alone_

_Yippe-i-yay, yippee-i-yo_

_Damn, these iron bars are cold!_

_Yippee-i-yay, yippee-i-yo_

_Here in prison I'll grow old_

_Here I sit in prison, she often visits me_

_Tells me that she's sorry, and she wishes I were free_

_Says she never loved him, only wish she'd stayed_

_I wish she would stop talking, yes, I wish she'd go away_

_Yippee-i-yay, yippee-i-yo_

_Damn, these iron bars are cold!_

_Yippee-i-yay, yippee-i-yo_

_Here in prison I'll grow old_

_Here I sit in prison, I don't give a damn_

_I'd shoot the bastard over, if they gave me half a chance_

_I only wish for one thing, I only wish instead_

_That I had kept on shootin' till the both of them were dead_

_Yippee-i-yay, yippee-i-yo_

_Damn, these iron bars are cold!_

_Yippee-i-yay, yippee-i-yo_

_Here in prison I'll grow old_

_Here in prison I'll grow old!_

He came off the stage to cheers and applause, gratefully accepting the fresh Jameson he was handed. "You going to go up, Callum?" he asked the British apprentice.

"I am nowhere near drunk enough to attempt that," the young man refuted, shaking his head quickly. He didn't dance, and he didn't sing, and those two things were not going to be altered any time soon. He supposed if he and Cliona got married, he would have to learn to dance for the reception, but that was-wait…married!

Oblivious to her boyfriend's sudden panic, Cli pouted adorably. "You won't even sing for me? Callum? Callum?" She tugged on his black wife beater, slightly worried.

"I'll sing for you in private, Bunny, if you can get me drunk enough," he promised her absently, threading his fingers through hers.

Cúan pulled a handful of request slips from the glass bowls of peanuts and rooted around until he found one of the small, stubby pencils. "Okay, everyone take on so we can really get the party started."

Clark took advantage of Kraven going up to perform _Rose Without a Thorn_ to address the girls. He thought it might be a little easier with the number of beers he'd knocked back by that point. "You know that what you are doing ish incredibly irre-irre-…" he trailed off mournfully, unable for the life of him to recollect the end of the word.

"Irresponsible?" Kushiel suggested, claiming her leash back from Hein to pass to Tyler. It was the little things that were so important.

"Yesh!" He carefully set down his bottle and turned to face them on the stool, nearly overbalancing and toppling. "Rulesh are in place for a reason, and they're for your own shafety."

"Is shafety anything like safety?" Carriegan uttered lowly.

"I think they may be cousins," Kushiel quipped back under her breath.

Drawing breath to scold further, Clark lost his balance and was saved by falling forward onto Kushiel, his face making contact with mesh covered cleavage. When he showed no inclination to recover, Kushiel sighed and pushed him off. "That's impressive," he told her with a goofy grin.

"Thank you," she told him dryly. "But they're not yours to touch."

"Yes, you lost that chance."

It suddenly occurred to Tyler that he would need to be veeeeery careful if he actually were to pursue any kind of relationship with the petite redhead; Carriegan and Cliona would know everything, and would probably take the chance at needling him in a thousand ways for every mistake. Then again, he had the perfect example of what not to do sitting in front of him, in the form of Clark Xavier Dowling. He pulled the Colubrae girl closer until she stepped up onto the bottom rung of the stool, putting her in perfect range to lean down and rest his chin atop her head.

_I don't need to hear you say  
that we can never be the same  
I got different plans so hear me out_

Faces, new and with the times  
will leave old thoughts behind  
it's time you know

"I have a new drink for you all," Hein announced, pulling forth three double shot glasses. "I wasn't going to give it to you, because you would certainly have recognized that the liquor wasn't muggle, but I daresay it's safe enough now."

They watched him with wide eyes as he carefully layered Black Goblin and Red Ashwinder into the glasses, creating four alternating levels of sparkling red and black. Both liquors had actually been banned from many wizarding bars for the sheer strength of them. Even more carefully, he spooned a layer of straight up Firewhiskey on the surface. He struck a match, holding it shielded in his hand. "When I say so, grab them and knock them back," he instructed. Quickly, he set the match to the surface of the three glasses and ignited the whiskey. "Drink!"

Ignoring the safety instinct that was screaming at them not to, all three girls grabbed a glass and knocked it back with the flames still licking at the surface. Swallowing, they all gasped, laughing as soon as they could breathe again.

"That's-" Carriegan cleared her throat so that her voice didn't come out as a squeak again. "That's wonderful! What is it called?"

"A Flaming Queen," he told them smugly, and willingly took the assault with peanuts that ensued.

_Look at the boy with a girl  
doesn't beauty lie skin-deep  
thru the eyes  
of who's looking at you baby  
now it's the time  
they have the right to it all  
and to be together  
this is more than just a song  
it's a poem to right what's wrong  
anytime to change forever!_

"They just called your name, Carriekins," Cúan told her, nuzzling at her neck. "I think it's your turn."

"Oh, right," she said, sliding down off his lap. She was actually blushing a little, so Cliona and Kushiel had the feeling that she was about to do something rather saccharine. Hmm…could they tease her for it later…?

Mounting the stage, Carriegan waited for the music before training her gaze on Cúan, never looking away during the entire song.

_Whenever sang my songs_

_On the stage, on my own_

_Whenever said my words_

_Wishing they would be heard_

_I saw you smiling at me_

_Was it real or just my fantasy_

_You'd always be there in the corner_

_Of this tiny little bar_

_My last night here for you_

_Same old songs, just once more_

_My last night here with you?_

_Maybe yes, maybe no_

_I kind of liked it your way_

_How you shyly placed your eyes on me_

_Oh, did you ever know?_

_That I had mine on you_

_Darling, so there you are_

_With that look on your face_

_As if you're never hurt_

_As if you're never down_

_Shall I be the one for you_

_Who pinches you softly but sure_

_If frown is shown then_

_I will know that you are no dreamer_

_So let me come to you_

_Close as I wanted to be_

_Close enough for me_

_To feel your heart beating fast_

_And stay there as I whisper_

_How I loved your peaceful eyes on me_

_did you ever know_

_That I had mine on you_

_Darling, so share with me_

_Your love if you have enough_

_Your tears if your're holding back_

_Or pain if that's what it is_

_How can I let you know_

_I'm more than the dress and the voice_

_Just reach me out then_

_You will know that you're not dreaming_

_Darling, so there you are_

_With that look on your face_

_As if you're never hurt_

_As if you're never down_

_Shall I be the one for you_

_Who pinches you softly but sure_

_If frown is shown then_

_I will know that you are no dreamer _

"Awwww…" Cliona and Kushiel whispered together, snickering.

As soon as the metamorph came back to the bar, Cúan pulled her to him and kissed her deeply, one hand sliding through her temporarily short hair to tease at the nape of her neck. "Thank you, Blue Eyes," he murmured.

"But her eyes are black," Tyler pointed out to Kushiel.

"It's a joke from an old, old operetta," the redhead explained. "It drives her nuts, so he calls her that almost exclusively."

Hein passed all eight, now including the professors in his free rounds, a Banshee, the bubbles in the drink shrieking every time they broke the surface. "Hurry, before anyone notices," he urged, grinning as some of them handled the strong drink better than others.

The look on Cúan's face when he got called up for his turn at the mike left his sister with a distinct feeling of foreboding; he was about to be enjoying himself far too much. The music started, with almost a classical feeling, something you would expect to hear in a forties and fifties movie, Fred and Ginger dancing a graceful ballroom scene. Then she actually started _listening_ to the words.

_I don't want my arms around you, no, not much_

_I don't bless the day I found you, no, not much_

_I don't need you like the stars don't need the sky_

_I won't love you longer than the day I die_

_You don't please me when you squeeze me, no, not much_

_My head's the lightest from your very slightest touch_

_Baby, if you ever go, could I take it? Maybe so_

_Ah, but would I like it? No, not much_

Sitting on her boyfriend's vacated stool, Carriegan silently seethed. Sure, the song was sweet, in a backhanded sort of way, but still…There were certain principles to be upheld.

_Like a ten cent soda doesn't cost a dime_

_I don't want you near me, only all the time_

_You don't thrill me when you hold me, no, not much_

_My brains get hazy from your cool and crazy touch_

_Baby, if you ever go, could I take it? Maybe so_

_Ah, but would I like it? No, not much_

_No, not much_

He came down to slightly befuddled applause, the liquor having been most free flowing by this point in the evening, and looked expectantly to Carriegan, who lightly punched his arm. "Hey! Abuse! Abuse!"

"Abuse, my ass," she snorted. "You certainly weren't screaming that when your sister was beating the crap out of me."

"Ah, yes, but then she was defending my honor," he teased, pulling her close in spite of her half hearted struggles. He leaned down and licked the curve of her ear, dropping his voice to a bare minimum. "Let's go someplace else," he urged.

"Where?"

"Who cares?" His wicked grin made her stomach do funny things. "The profs won't even notice. As long as we meet everyone in the alley a couple minutes before two, they'll never know. Come on, Blue Eyes." Resting his forehead against hers, he said the words that melted her resolve. "I've missed you."

"Let me tell Diamonds and Spades," she breathed. A moment later, it was done, and she and Cúan were sneaking out the front door.

Kraven regarded Callum steadily, absently swirling his rum and Coke in its glass. "So, are you going to go up now?" he inquired.

Callum shook his head. "There's not enough alcohol in the world to make me go up there."

"Wanna bet?" Hein joshed him, and he glowered at the barkeep again.

"Come on, Callum, let's get some air," Cliona suggested, tugging on his hand. A quick wink at Kushiel let her friend know that she was going the path of Carriegan. Well, not the exact path, because then she would be seeing her friend and brother do things she didn't want to be seeing, but a very, very similar path.

Kushiel sighed and shook her head. Great. Now she was all alone with the professors, and despite being comfortably ensconced in the circle of Tyler's arms, she was fairly sure it wouldn't progress any further than that, and she had the vague feeling that she would wind up helping them babysit the very soused Clark. It was getting later, though, and the songs were getting more mellow.

"Aren't you going up?" Tyler's rich voice washed over her.

"No," she replied. "I had my kicks with the girls, but I prefer singing with not so many people to hear me."

"Shy? You?"

"Sometimes."

An innocent looking girl who had only been let through the door because her parents were there with her got up onto the karaoke stage, her hands trembling with nervousness. Her voice, when it emerged, was thin with fear, but clear and sweet, as she sang a song popular amongst the younger teenagers. Safe against Tyler's chest, with no fear of being overheard by the bar at large, Kushiel sang along, for Tyler's ears only.

_There's a song that's inside of my soul_

_It's the one that I've tried to write over and over again_

_I'm awake in the infinite cold_

_But you sing to me over and over and over again_

_So I lay my head back down_

_And I lift my hands and pray_

_To be only yours, I pray_

_To be only yours_

_I know now, you're my only hope_

Looking rather pale, Clark finally excused himself and made his way towards the bathroom.

_Sing to me the song of the stars_

_Of your galaxy dancing and laughing and laughing again_

_When it feels like my dreams are so far_

_Sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again_

Kraven watched the entrance to the bathroom for the rest of the song, but the Headmaster didn't emerge. "Excuse me," he sighed to Kushiel and Tyler, setting down his drink. Years ago, he'd promised Sachiko, who regarded Clark much like a little brother, that he would look out for her friend and colleague, who was a decided lightweight when it came to drinking.

Teacher and student stood in stunned silence for a moment, and Hein rolled his eyes, leaning forward to tap Tyler on the shoulder. "Try moving away from the bar for a bit," he told them, glancing briefly over at one of couches tucked away in the far back corner. It was usually for the band to chill on between sets, but there was no live band tonight, and all who remained at this time were still clustered about the stage.

"You know," Tyler said after a second, "that's a very good idea."

Snickering, Kushiel allowed herself to be led across the club by her leash, a light tug sending her tumbling into Tyler's lap when he seated himself on the couch.

"Now, this is much better, wouldn't you agree?" he asked conversationally.

Resting her head against his chest, she could both feel and hear his heart beating. She wasn't drunk, but she was definitely buzzed, having once again found the limit of that wonderful potion. She didn't mind, though. Muffled by corners, she could still hear the low, sultry tones of someone singing _Every Time We Say Goodbye_, and she allowed herself to float for a moment on the music.

_Every time we say goodbye, I die a little_

_Every time we say goodbye, I wonder why a little_

_Why the gods above me, who must be in the know_

She jerked back to awareness with a finger lightly tracing the hickey on the left side of her neck. "Now, this is an interesting souvenir," Tyler commented. "More in keeping with Aurelia, though, isn't it?"

"Hmm, if I were Aurelia, there would be a great many more," she pointed out. "Besides, that was Hein's revenge for finding out that I was underage when I made out with him in November."

"You made out with Hein?"

"Only once," she protested with a laugh.

"No wonder he's so fond of you girls, then," he noted, a humorous gleam in his blue eyes. "It's a little lopsided, though. It's only on one side."

"I'm sorry, would you like me to go back to the bar and ask him to fix it?"

"Well, you could, if you really wanted to, but I'm sure I could manage to fix such a simple thing as that."

She twisted around in his lap so she was straddling him, regarding him carefully. "It wouldn't bother you that I'm your student?"

His hand slid up the length of her arm to cup the back of her neck, bringing her face just a breath away from his. "Does it look like we're on school grounds?" When she mutely shook her head, he closed that barest distance, his lips brushing against hers teasingly. He came back, kissing her softly and deeply, taking full possession of her mouth in the dark corner of the club. When they absolutely had to pause for air, he licked and nibbled a careful line down the right side of her neck, and she gasped when she felt his teeth and lips latch onto a **very** sensitive spot near her collarbone. She could feel the sting of it before he even moved away, and smiled.

"Am I balanced now?" she murmured.

"I don't know, let me check," he whispered back, once again claiming her mouth with his.

_There's no love song finer_

_But how strange, the change_

_From major to minor_

_Every time we say goodbye_

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True to their word, Callum, Cliona, Cúan, and Carriegan were waiting for them in the alley behind the club, safely tucked away behind the large pile of boxes they used as their Apparation. The returned girls noted the new hickey, practically framed between the black strap of the bodice and the rhinestone studded collar, but in long standing tradition, they didn't point it out where others would hear them. That would have meant that Kushiel would be allowed to point out several marks on their own bodies, and they didn't think the professors would be entirely thrilled with that.

Kraven was supporting the stumbling Clark, which amused them all a great deal. Kushiel pulled the handkerchief portkey from her cleavage and made sure everyone got a hand on it. Right before they all felt the characteristic tug behind their navels, she felt Tyler's lips press softly against hers, as if in goodbye.

They next found themselves in the Entrance Hall of the school, Clark retching pathetically. Portkey wasn't exactly kind to the already liquor impaired stomach. They found Sachiko and Robin waiting for them, obviously furious. While still hidden behind the shield of the professors, Cúan made his lingering goodbye and walked out, heading to the gates to he could Apparate back to the Den.

"Where have you been!" Sachiko demanded sharply, taking in the three men and completely missing the girls concealed behind them. "You said you were called to the Hexagon for a few hours, and now it's two in the morning!"

"And you're drunk!" Robin added, foot tapping a fast beat against the stone. "Where have you been?"

"We've been at Howl," Kraven told them sourly, nose wrinkling as he Scourgified the vomit from off his shoes. "It was their annual Karaoke night."

"And you couldn't have just told us this? You couldn't have said, hey, we're going to go to Karaoke Night after we get out of the important conference?"

"I suppose we could have," Tyler agreed whimsically, eyeing the distance between him and the dungeon side hallway. If he timed it just right, maybe he could create a diversion and allow the girls to sneak behind him towards the Colubrae dorms…

"Cliona!"

Whoops. Too late.

Robin's eyes narrowed fiercely, her hands on her hips. "You have students with you?"

The three girls shared a look, coming to a silent consensus on the best tactic to use. They could come clean and take the blame for it, or they could allow the enraged females to pin it all on Clark, as the Headmaster, who was far too drunk to defend himself.

They chose the latter.

They shrugged.

Kraven, understanding their choice, shook his head subtly when Tyler opened his mouth to speak, and the Headmaster spoke instead. "They sang a naughty song," he giggled, a very unsettling sound out of a man in leather and mesh. "It didn't match the lyrics on the screen, though."

Sachiko and Robin both looked at the girls, who merely shrugged again, then back to Clark. "Do you think he realizes that he's not getting a hangover potion in the morning?" The infirmary keeper asked in resignation.

"Best tell that to Grasella," Kraven reminded her, giving serious thought to fobbing the drunk man off on a house elf to care for. "She has a soft spot for him."

"That's because she used to babysit him, and she won't appreciate the sweet little boy she used to care getting drunk off his ass."

The girls snickered at this newest piece of intelligence. Absolutely priceless.

"He's getting heavy," the Divinations professor ground out. "Can we please continue this discussion in the morning?"

"That depends. Do we need to lessen the house points for Colubrae and Enigmus?"

"No," Kraven answered after a moment's thought. "They weren't doing anything their professors weren't doing, and they certainly showed more restraint than our Hairmaster."

"Kraven!"

"What? He is the only person I have ever met who can retain a perfect hairdo while drunkenly puking his guts out."

They couldn't laugh, they couldn't laugh, they couldn't-oh-dear gods! "Can we get off to bed then, sir?" Kushiel choked out amidst the desperate need to not laugh out loud.

"Yes, off with you."

Cliona and Callum headed off to the Enigmus dorms and the private rooms by the infirmary respectively. As Carriegan and Kushiel rounded the corner on dungeon side, the redhead glanced back in time to see Professor Ward blow a teasing kiss. Smirking, she turned back around, more than ready to go to bed and have pleasant dreams of ginger haired yetis.

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"Kush!"

"Wha-huh?" Torn from dreams of phantom lips and fingers at her neck, Kushiel sat straight up in bed, her wand in her hand and pointed at the sound of the voice before her eyes were even open. As soon as she could clear the sleepies from them with her other hand, she opened her eyes to see her target.

It was Carriegan. A very pale, and obviously frightened, Carriegan.

"What's wrong, Hearts?" she mumbled.

"I had a Dream."

"Hearts, you dream all the time-"

"No, I had a _Dream_," she repeated, laying special emphasis on the word.

"What is it?" her friend asked her, suddenly awake and alert.

After Carriegan had related the dream, Kushiel puzzled through it in tense silence. She didn't have the Sight, but she was damn good at interpretation; it's why she and Carriegan worked off of each other so well in Advanced Divinations. "We need to go to Professor Bloodthorne," she said finally, sliding off the bed to find her flipflops with her feet. Her hand groped automatically for her dark green chenille dressing gown, the early spring equivalent of the baby blue blanket.

"Now? Kush, it's five o'clock in the morning."

"And this can't wait, come on."

"You think it means something big, then?" The metamorph asked, reaching for her own black nightrobe.

"It might be."

The two girls snuck quietly out of the dormitory, careful not to wake up the other occupants, and down the hall to the common room. They had to convince the portrait of Caterina to let them through, but when they explained they were going to their Head of House, she let them pass with a worried frown. They almost dashed the short distance through the open halls to their Head's office. The door was always unlocked, so that students could come in if they needed to, and on his desk was a bell. It was spelled to an alarm in his quarters in case of emergency, but they couldn't actually remember the last time it had been used. They shared a long look, steeling themselves, then Kushiel reached out and rang the bell strongly.

A few minutes later, they heard muffled swearing and loud thumps that could only be their half-awake professor stumbling towards the door connecting the office to his rooms. The door yanked open and he glared. "What is it?"

"Carriegan had a dream, sir," Kushiel told him calmly, holding her friend's hand.

"And this couldn't wait until class why?"

"You haven't heard the dream yet."

Pushing aside his surliness with an effort, Kraven actually looked at both the girls, at Kushiel's grimness, and Carriegan's lingering fear. Neither was healthy on its own, but together? Sighing, he shook his head and opened the door wider, belting his robe more tightly about his lean frame. "Come into the study," he told them. "At least it has a couch."

The two girls followed him into the study elegantly appointed in deep browns and golds. They sat on the couch while he settled himself into a wingbacked chair facing them, building up the fire with a swish of his wand. "Tell me," he ordered simply.

Carriegan took a moment to pull her thoughts into order, making sure she had as many details as she could before she began speaking. Backtracking could interfere with the sense of the dream, and could greatly alter interpretation. "I was looking at a waterfall," she began slowly, her violet eyes losing focus as she saw the events again. "It was a strong one, though not terribly, terribly tall. It crashed strongly, creating lots of foam, then calmed as it started to twist its way through stone. All of a sudden, there was pain, blinding pain." She glanced down at her hand, which was twitching in sensate remembrance. "Then the river was gone," she continued after a moment, "and the water fell as rain onto a lonely graveyard of statues. It didn't look like it was meant to be a graveyard, though, like it was something else originally. When the rain ceased, one of the statues was crying, and a Phoenix tumbled from the tears before they hit the stone ground. When the bird hit the ground, it set fire to the water on the surface, and everything was burned away. When the ashes cleared, there was just a flat plain of stone, with a dried rose in a scorched circle."

Kraven listened silently, his eyebrows drawn fiercely together in a scowl. He had come to the same conclusions, or nearly, as Kushiel, and he didn't like them. "I'll bring this up with Clark as soon as he's sober," he promised them. "You were right to be concerned, Kush, it's almost identical to Dreamer Herare's vision. It doesn't give us any specific ideas, though."

"Why in the morning, sir?" Carriegan asked curiously. "This is the type of thing he normally likes to know right away."

"Because until the sun streams through his window and blinds him with pain, he will be entirely oblivious to everything," he informed them wryly. "Thank you for bringing this to me. Now back to bed, both of you."

"Yes, sir."

The two girls left through his office, returning to the dorm after assuring the portrait that they were all right. Caterina may not have gotten along with the other Founders, but she was fiercely protective of her own house. They settled back into their beds in silence.

Finally, Carriegan turned onto her side to face Kush's direction. "Diamonds? What do you think it means?"

"I think it means we're not far from finding out what the Sculptor has been up to," she answered gravely.

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Cliona, Carriegan, and Kushiel walked into lunch the next day a little warily, not entirely sure if the Headmaster was belatedly going to give them trouble.

They needn't have worried.

Clark sat in his chair up at the High Table, staring at a bowl of chicken noodle soup and goldfish, squinting at the too bright light pouring in through the windows. When they glanced at Tyler and Kraven, both professors nodded reassuringly. Apparently, Clark didn't remember a thing.

The trio sat down at the nearly deserted Colubrae table. It was, after all, two in the afternoon, a bit late for most lunches. They could see Kraven talking quietly with Clark, presumably about Carriegan's dream, but they weren't entirely sure if anything was penetrating the hangover haze.

Not long after their pizza appeared on the table between them, a great bald eagle swooped into the hall, dropping a sterile white envelope in front of Clark. He blinked at it for a moment, then opened it. All trace of alcohol effects faded from his face, along with all color, and he gestured to Kushiel to come join them.

"What's going on?"

"I dunno," she murmured in reply to Carriegan, but she had a sinking feeling. The only bald eagle she'd ever seen quite like that had been delivering a report fro Dennis Andrews, which could only mean a governmental issue. She came to stand before the High Table. "What happened?"

"The Tourgique Institute of Enchanment has been attacked by the Sculptor," he informed her darkly. "We'll be taking in the survivors for the remainder of the year."

"Survivors?" she echoed.

"And Dennis has specifically requested _your_ presence at the school when we go to check it out," he added, his dark eyes heavy in their regard. "Rafael da Lucca suggested that you might see things more clearly than anyone else."

She tried to fathom the idea of an entire school being wasted to the point of sending the students away entirely. "When do we leave?" she asked quietly.

"As soon as we're changed," came the answer. "Mistress Craefter is going to quickly cut down a coat for you, so you'll have that defense at least. There's really nothing we can do about armor. As soon as you're changed into something suitable, meet us at the cottage. We'll be leaving from there."

"How many are dead?"

"They're still counting."


	22. Permanent Expression

**Disclaimer: I can lay no claim to either Potterverse or Avistrum. They do not belong to me; I make no money off of them, so there. Thbt.**

_A/N: Virtual milk and cookies to everyone who reviews within 24 hours of posting. So, hah! Incentive!_

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Permanent Expression**

Kushiel had changed her clothing and was running to the cottage before ten minutes was up, her long hair spelled up and held with black and silver ornamental chopsticks. She slid to a halt before the door and knocked softly, walking in when Mistress Craefter's voice gave permission.

Clark raised his eyebrows at her choice of 'suitable' clothing. A black leather halter top, completely covering but clinging to the front and leaving all of the back bare, and dark blue jeans didn't exactly scream suitable to him. "At the risk of repeating myself, this isn't a date, Kush."

She spared him half a glance as the Practical Magics teacher grabbed her arm and yanked her onto a low fitting platform, sliding the coat up over her shoulders to test the wear of it. "Heaven forbid it, but if I should need my sword, I want to be able to reach it," she told him flatly. "We don't know enough about the Sculptor to know whether or not he likes to stick around to see his work, or if he likes to give encore performances."

The silver haired Mistress Craefter made a few adjustments, with her wand rather than her preferred method of needle and thread, but then, time was of the utmost importance. "There you are, Mademoiselle," she announced, twitching the hem for good measure. "Try not to get as many holes in it as Clark does."

"How could she possibly?" Kraven muttered, and Sachiko elbowed him sharply.

"This is no time for jokes," she hissed, her face pale.

"Let's go."

While waiting for Kushiel to join them, the professors had agreed that Sachiko and Polonius would remain at the school in case Persephone decided to take advantage of the chaos and confusion. So it was that Kush was heading out with Clark, Kraven, and Tyler, in a manner oddly reminiscent of the previous night. Adante Avarra already had the motorcycles ready for them, and Tyler pulled the redhead to sit behind him. "Hold on tight to my waist," he told her quietly. "When we take off, there'll be quite a bit of a lurch."

She nodded and settled in, fingers threaded through his belt loops and cheek pressed against his back.

"Head out," Clark ordered, the Eye of Horus blazing about his right eye. The bikes revved up and hit the path leading up to the front gates, which opened of their own volition. As soon as they'd built up good speed, they reared back and pressed the flight button, which allowed them to take off.

It was a very unusual feeling, riding on a flying motorcycle. They were going much, much faster than any normal motorcycle, of course, or it would have taken the forever to get to their destination. Louisiana isn't particularly close to Virginia, though it's closer than many states. Up so high though, she couldn't feel the tug of gravity the way she could on a broomstick. The wheels were turning, but she couldn't particularly see that they were touching anything to turn them. After a time, she decided not to think about it, so as to spare herself the headache. She didn't care how the muggle contraption was flying. The fact is, it was, and it was getting them where they needed to go.

Conversation was quite impossible, with the wind rushing past them, even despite the protective bubble each bike automatically put out, so she spent the time thinking back on what she knew of Tourgique.

Founded in 1550, it had been established to protect young witches from the dangers of the Inquisition. Before long, it had expanded to include wizards as well. It was located on a magically hidden and enlarged barrier island off the coast of Louisiana, called Tortesca, and consisted of the town of Port Daverro and the school itself. She knew little bits and pieces, but not much, overall. She knew that Professor Avram Michaels seemed a very jolly sort of man from his letters to Tyler, and she'd learned a great deal about the feliolinx from his words and the sketches. She knew from Professor Avarra's book that they had a long history with a group of pirates, and had a Parley festival every summer to renew the treaties that had stopped the battles. It wasn't a lot to go off of, though.

Just like in Europe, American wizarding schools didn't tend to come into too much contact with each other. Every few years, they'd get together for a Quidditch tournament; the last time this had happened, in her fourth year, Tourgique had won.

After about an hour, during which time she'd begun entertaining herself by playing Hangman on the back of Tyler's duster, they started their descent, coming back down through the clouds to see the blue-green Gulf of Mexico glittering below them. Another few minutes had an island in sight, and she took the time to marvel at the size of it. It wasn't huge, but it was definitely much larger than the grounds of Avistrum.

They made a mostly smooth landing on the southwest side of the island, where a natural harbor had been built up on the west side to include a long pier. On the southward sweep, they could see a white sandy beach and a rocky cove, which was where she assumed the _Sea Wench_ must be anchored. The tires once again on firm ground, they sped up the path to the small town, dusters flapping behind them in the artificial wind. Following Clark's lead, Kraven and Tyler braked and dismounted, Tyler helping Kushiel off.

Port Daverro was small, but very neat, and obviously well looked after. She could see a bookshop, a bank, a post office, a newspaper office, a general store, and there down on one end, almost to the houses that surrounded the businesses in the central square, she could see a carved and painted sign that read simply "Auntie Ellette's". She'd entirely forgotten that Carriegan's aunt lived and worked near Tourgique. The square was full of milling townsfolk and government agents, and she could see students clustered tightly around Auntie Ellette's potion shop. Panic and fear was written over everyone's face, and she wondered again just what they'd be seeing.

"Headmaster Dowling," a grave voice greeted them quietly. They turned to see a tall, thin man step away from the fountain in the middle of the square and walk towards them. "I'm glad you're here."

"Headmaster Sinclair," Clark nodded in reply. "What happened?"

Matteo Sinclair ran a hand over his long brown hair, brown eyes thoughtful and heavy as he considered his answer. "We were attacked," he said finally, simply. "He came right up to the school, bold as you please, and started turning my students and faculty into statues. We have emergency portkeys to the town situated all over the school, so people began utilizing those, and Ellette, bless her soul, kept them calm once they got there, but we lost too many too quickly. Then he just left. He didn't take anyone with him, didn't leave anything additional behind, just left."

Giving a quick look to Clark to get permission, Kushiel came forward. "Sir? What did he look like?"

If the man was surprised to see a student with the Dark Hunters, he didn't show it. "He's not a tall man, but not quite short, either. The smaller side of medium, I suppose I would say. Very stocky, broad across the shoulders, and heavily muscled, the muscles of labor, not exercise. I want to say his hair was brown, but it could have been a dark blonde; it was difficult to tell through the stone dust that lightened it. He has blue eyes, very very blue, and very intense, with a rough hewn face."

She smiled slightly. "Writer?"

Now he looked startled. "Poet, yes. Why?"

"There aren't many people who would have noticed that much detail with everything else going on," she explained. "Did he say anything?"

"I need to go find Dennis," Clark murmured to his colleagues. "Will you stay with her?"

"Tyler?" Kraven asked. "I was giving thought to finding Ellette Chantrea and finding out things from her end, start looking at the numbers of students."

"I'll stay," the tall redhead agreed, watching the other two immediately head off towards their chosen assignments.

"He complimented us on the statues by the entrance," Matteo answered with a frown. "He said they were beautiful, but that they lacked true depth. I wasn't entirely sure what he meant."

Kushiel merely shook her head; she didn't know yet either. "Is it safe to go up to the school?" she inquired instead.

"I imagine so," Tyler told her, shading his eyes as he looked up at the northeast path. "I can't imagine things being this calm if he were still up there."

"I'll take you up," Headmaster Sinclair offered, "It's about a mile's walk."

Together, the three set out, Tyler stopping briefly at the potion shop to inform Kraven of their destination. He nodded and continued his own conversation, but when they told Clark, at the outskirts of town, he nodded sharply. "I'll come, as well," he announced. "I want to see this for myself, and now is as good a time as any. Coming, Dennis?"

The blond SWAT agent ran a hand over his weary face. "Might as well," he agreed. "Not that I haven't seen it already, but I'd be interested in hearing what Wonder Girl here has to say."

She ignored the insult, deeming it too pathetic to be worth a response.

"You invited her," Clark reminded him with a growl that would have been more in place coming from Kraven.

"Yes, I know, and if da Lucca hadn't been so sure she'd be a help, I wouldn't have."

"It's this way," Matteo interrupted gently, a gleam of humor in his eyes.

Not far from the town, they passed a huge grove of trees on their right, but something seemed a little off about it. Finally, Kushiel realized that there were a number of trees that either weren't supposed to be in flower at the moment, or shouldn't have been able to survive in the same soil. Tourgique's Headmaster caught her questioning gaze and smiled. "Our wand wood grove," he explained, a touch of pride coming into his voice. "It's carefully tended by our Herbology students and Master Pierrebois, Port Daverro's very talented wandmaker."

"It's beautiful," she told him softly. "Very peaceful."

They continued on, seeing the magizoology barns off to the south, a quick-flowing river immediately to the north of them. They climbed up a low hill and Kush stopped at the peak, jaw dropping at her first sight of the school. Avistrum was imposing, but Tourgique was gorgeous.

The northeast side of the island consisted of a large cliff, into which the school had been built. The South Tower rose higher even than the lip of the cliff, and there must have been a spring fed lake up atop the plateau, because a strong waterfall surged over the lip to fall towards the entrance. Above the large, polished wood double doors, a broad stone ledge with the school crest split the waterfall into two, allowing it to crash a short distance to either side of the doors. The twin falls fell into the river, the two legs joining just past the stone courtyard to form the river that wended its way towards the ocean on their left. Simple, elegant stone bridges crossed the legs to allow access, and she could see greenhouses and gardens off to either side of the huge building. The façade had more windows than she could count at a glance, and she could only assume the interior of the school to be bathed in light, giving it an entirely welcoming appearance.

Matteo led the way forward once they'd had time to adjust to the unexpected splendor, and it was when they crossed the south bridge that they saw the first of the statues. "Kheprus al-Musaad," he told them lowly. "An Impari second year."

Not even hearing the startled protest of her own Headmaster, Kushiel walked forward and paced around the statue, observing it closely. It was a dark grey stone, veined in black, and she wondered it the difference in stone types had any significance to the Sculptor. Kheprus al-Musaad hadn't hit many growth spurts, yet; he was a small boy, almost elfin with his slight bone structure and large eyes. He had one hand held out before him, but in greeting, not in fear. He probably hadn't known there was a reason to fear. The clothing was immaculately represented, down to every wrinkle and stain, his hair curling tightly about his ears. "You said he turned the students _into_ statues?" she asked abstractedly.

"Yes."

Clark shook his head. Now it was starting to make more sense, where the missing people were going. He turned to the pair of analysts that had trailed along after Dennis Andrews, not that they weren't already swarming all over the place. "Well?"

"Give us a minute, Dowling," one of them scowled. "This is our first time seeing the scene, too."

"Kush, don't wander off," Clark warned, turning his attention to the agents' study of the statue.

She didn't listen. With both Tyler and Matteo trailing after her to keep an eye out, she continued on to the other statues in the courtyard. These expressions showed surprise, and a little fear, but they didn't seem to have registered yet what was going on. As she stood at the base of the steps leading up to the doors, she looked to both sides to see the statues Matteo Sinclair had mentioned. One either side of the steps, banked islands flowed with flowers and herbs. Rising out of these were four statues, two on each side of the steps, stepped so that two stood at the top of the stairs and two at the bottom.

She turned her attention first to the one on the lower left. The statue seemed life-size, pale grey stone standing atop a matching circular plinth with a ring of dark amethyst. The woman depicted was even shorter than Kushiel, which the girl found a perverse amusement in, perhaps five feet in height, with slender curves draped in simple robes. Large eyes gazed kindly out, long hair pinned up into a braided coronet. Her hands were small but graceful, and herbs Kushiel recognized as valerian and dittany trailed up reaching towards those fingers. Set on the wall a short distance behind her, a deep purple banner held an ornamental S in silver trimmed black.

Behind her, a taller woman stood within a ring of dark emerald, robes open over skirt-like trousers and an Indian slashed tunic. Her hair was pulled up in hair sticks with several dangles coming off, and she could both see and hear them moving in the wind created by the waterfall. She stood maybe five feet and nine inches tall, her eyes wide set and her wrists bearing bangles that hailed from all over the world. Her banner, very close behind her, was a deep forest green with a silver trimmed black D.

Still without speaking, she crossed the steps to the right, The lower woman was five inches taller than her counterpart on the left, and had a kind of matronly plumpness to her, an understated roundness that shone of good health. Her counterpart had seemed very young, the woman diagonal to her ageless in a way, but she seemed a little bit older, laugh lines crinkling the corner of her kind, knowledgeable eyes. Her robes were slightly rumpled as they draped towards the ring of dark sapphire, her hair back in a simple bun that threatened to tumble out of its pins at any minute. Her banner was a navy several shades darker than the sapphire, her letter a curving I.

The final statue stood in front of a deep red banner, almost a burgundy, claiming the letter N in curling lines. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than Professor Ward, and had a very imposing, and rather fierce, presence. Her strong face, almost hawk-like in the sharpness of the lines, gave her a commanding mien, her hair back in a single braid and kerchief. She had broad shoulders, but wasn't particularly stocky, simply keeping her size in consistency, her almost severely tailored robes falling close along her body and stopping just short enough that they could see the toes of her plain, practical boots within the ring of dark garnet.

"Séraphine Sollers, Damayanti Diadema, Isolde Impari, and Nikita Navitas," Matteo introduced, bowing slightly to the statues as he called over the noise of the waterfall. "Our four Founders."

"They're all female," Kushiel mused. "No wonder the school's so pretty."

Tyler snorted.

The large doors, a dark golden brown wood with slightly paler insets, stood ajar, revealing further chaos within. There weren't as many statues in here, though they were easy to see with the hall flooded with light. She quirked an eyebrow at Matteo, who nodded.

"The majority of the inflicted students were in the Great Hall," he told her. "These were just the ones he hit on his way there."

These as well showed the same lack of horror, though fear was present in the faces of those farthest from the door. It was mostly surprise. There was even one caught on her way down the stairs, one hand on the railing, one foot balanced precariously on a stair and the other behind her, arrested while still in motion. She wandered towards the left, where the double doors had to lead to the student tables, and was stopped by a slender hand on her shoulder.

She looked back to see Tourgique's headmaster regarding her solemnly. "It's not an easy sight in there," he told her. "Are you sure?"

"I need to see," she answered gently, and he nodded, removing his hand. To reassure herself, she flexed her wrist against her wand, safe in its sheath along her arm. She walked in and stopped short, realizing what had been missing from the previous statues.

The pain.

Both Evangelion Herare and Carreigan's dreams had specifically mentioned pain, blinding pain, and Maggie Tuarte's face had been in a grimace of agony. Here, finally, in the roughly five score of students captured permanently, she had found the horror, the terror, and the pain. She reached out hesitantly to brush against the smooth cheek of what had to be a first year girl, a Salamander pendant hanging from the open neck of her light sweater, yanking her hand back as her fingers tingled with the ghost of a spell. Her eyes narrowed as she considered what that meant, pulling her emotion aside to simply observe. "How do you Crucio a roomful of people and not have any of them fight back or disarm you before you get to them?"

"You don't," Headmaster Sinclair answered slowly. "Unless you've found or adapted a spell to capture them all at once."

"Callia Waylen's transcripts note a talent for spell-adaptation. Her transfigurations professor noted a strong imagination, though not an original one, so she couldn't create the spells from scratch, but he said she was nearly genius in her ability to adapt them," Tyler noted.

"A mass-Cruciatus." Matteo closed his eyes, hands trembling at his sides. "Merlin preserve us."

Kushiel didn't say anything to that; she wasn't sure the long-dead Merlin could do anything against something like this. She walked silently back the way they'd come and up the stairs, taking care not to bump the statue as she went past. She wandered aimlessly through the entire school, exploring as much as observing. Students, as well as professors and even a handful of house elves, stood frozen, but only in the main sections. As they got to the extremities, there was simply silence and empty space.

The level they'd come in on was actually the fourth floor, she found out. The southwest side had carefully locked doors that Matteo explained led to tunnels towards the town and even further under the school, more proof that the island had been very enhanced by magic. The northeast dungeons actually had windows that looked out underwater, creatures swimming by and not even giving the windows a thought. Climbing the different levels, that entire side was covered with windows, facing out across the gulf and flooding the halls with clean light. It wasn't as bright as it would be in the morning; with the late afternoon, the sun was over the other side of the island, but it was a stunning sight. Everything she saw showed a woman's touch; practical and yet softened with a touch of beauty.

Her feet eventually led them back to the entrance hall, and she stopped abruptly in front of a statue she hadn't clearly noted the first time. Something about the tall, broad body was familiar, but she couldn't…She gasped and paled as the memory clarified itself, and Tyler quickly grabbed her shoulder in concern.

"What is it?" he demanded sharply, wand out and ready.

"It's Devryn," she whispered, pointing at the statue. "His poor parents. First Tisha, now Devryn."

An agent coming from the fourth floor started hurrying down the stairs, a pile of gadgets in his arms, and bumped into the statue of the girl. It teetered for a moment before toppling forward, crashing onto the steps and smashing into several pieces, crumbling further as it continued down towards the hall. Without even a second though, he continued on outside.

"Asshole," Kushiel muttered, and Tyler's lips twitched in agreement. She stepped over to gather up the pieces, thinking maybe they could be repaired for the sake of the girl's family if nothing else, and knelt down. As soon as her hand closed around one of the pieces, she shrieked and dropped it, watching it and the others turn from stone back to flesh. There was no blood, no fluid, but the student's body was unmistakably restored, albeit in pieces, and was unmistakably dead. "We have to protect the statues," she murmured in horror. "Shit, we have to protect the statues!"

She stumbled over her long coat as she shot to her feet, righting herself and racing outside to where Dennis and Clark stood listening to the professional opinion of men who didn't have a clue. "Sir!" she cried out, sliding to a halt in front of him. "We have to make sure nothing happens to the statues!"

"Kush, what are you-"

"If something happens to the statues, it happens to the person the statue used to be," she explained breathlessly, hands on her knees as she fought the urge to retch. "One of the agents knocked over a girl inside; she shattered as soon as she hit the floor, as stone will, but then the stone turned back into flesh. If anything happens to the statues, we're not going to be able to get the people back."

"Get the people-" Dennis began incredulously, but Clark had already begun issuing orders to the handful of panicking house elves that had gathered around them. Glad to have something to do, they set about placing the strongest protections a house elf's magic could perform about each and every statue, preserving it from accident and weather alike.

"Do you know what this is?" Clark asked his student when he turned back.

She hesitated. "I might," she answered finally. "I'd need to look it up-"

"This isn't a research project, girl!" Dennis protested. "We don't have time-"

"You've got nothing but time," she retorted furiously. "You have no idea where either Persephone or the Sculptor is, so you can't do thing one to prevent something like this from happening again. Time is the only thing you've got!" Cutting herself off furiously, she turned her back on him and dug in her pocket for her old fashioned lighter. She cocked back the lid and sparked it, waiting for the green flame to rise to its full height of an inch and a half. "Cliona McCullough," she said, and waited patiently.

"Clark, this is not the time for her to be chatting on Portable Floo," the SWAT leader hissed, but Clark shook his head.

"She's getting the information she needs to give us a firm opinion," he told him. "Just shut up and wait."

"What is it, Kush?" Cliona's voice asked a moment later, swimming into focus inside the flame.

"I need you to do me a huge favor, Cli," she said quietly. "Keep this lit and go to the library, and hand it to Mister Argiletum. I need him to look something up for me, and I don't think I'm allowed to actively involve you."

"A flame near the books?" she reminded. "He'll flip."

"He'll have the flame," she told her. "Cli, please, this is extremely important."

"I'm on my way there." A minute or two later, the flame bounced, and the puzzled face of the librarian came into view. "Mademoiselle de Navarre, what is going on? Miss McCullough said you needed something looked up? Why can't you-"

"I'm with the Dark Hunters, sir," she cut him off, and he nodded gravely. "Maybe you know this already, but if you don't, you'll be able to find it fastest. Is magical transmogrification permanent?"

The hand not holding Cliona's lighter rose to tug pensively at his bow tie. "Magical transmogrification….let me check, I'm not entirely sure. I know there were a number of theories presented several years ago on varying levels of permanence, but I can't quite recall the final decision, as that was when Timmernak had the troubles with the Verdibog." There was silence as he rustled one handed through some books, flipping pages and setting them back on the shelf when they didn't have what he wanted. "Ah, here we are. Magical transmogrification. The final verdict they came to is that it is permanent until the death of the transmogrifier, or until the destruction of the transmogrified person or item. At either of those two points, the spell will dissolve."

"Does it have any codicils on whether or not the permanence is affected by it being a group spell?"

"Meaning it's cast on many items and only one item is destroyed?" he clarified.

"Yes, exactly."

"It doesn't say anything to that," he answered after a moment.

"Thank you, sir."

"Do you need me to pass you back to Miss McCullough?"

"No, sir, but thank you, and thank her for me as well, please." She clicked the lid shut and put it back in her pocket, taking a deep breath. "And there's our answer," she said simply.

"The experts studying Miss Tuarte said it wasn't transfiguration," Dennis argued.

"She said transmogrification, not transfiguration, Dennis," Clark pointed out, one hand playing idly along the brim of his black Stetson. "Explain, Kush."

"It's a type of change or alteration done to be either comedic or grotesque," she answered readily. "In the muggle world, it's harmless, and more something they assign to science fiction anyway. Magically, though, it turns Thing A into Thing B, while still retaining all of the essential properties of Thing A. The Sculptor has turned these people into works of art, while still keeping that which makes them human, including their mortality. As Mister Argiletum said, transmogrification is only permanent up to the death of the person doing it or the destruction of the thing it was done to. With the Sculptor's death, they'll all revert to being human again, though how intact their sanity will be when all this is done is another story entirely. However, if you destroy the statue, it also reverts back to human, in the same manner of the statue, and very dead."

"Is there a counter to it?"

She shook her head.

"So the only way to turn these people back into people is to kill the Sculptor."

"Exactly."

"Damn it."

Dennis and Clark started to argue logistics, and Kushiel was left with the odd feeling that she didn't have anything more to do. A light tap on her shoulder brought her attention back to the quiet master of Tourgique. "Would you like to see the rest of the island?" he asked her softly.

She recognized the offer for what it was, and was grateful. She was more than happy to escape, even just for a moment, the graveyard of still eyes. With Tyler as her protective shadow, she followed Matteo back through the school and into the South Tower, walking up the twisting staircase. After climbing past the classrooms, they passed the Navitas dormitories and common room, heading up to the Astronomy classroom at the very top of the tower. The roof was made of reinforced glass, and a railed balcony led out to the view.

And what a view it was. The tight hand clenching around her heart since she'd arrived started to lessen its grip. To their immediate right and left, greenhouses and gardens hung around the walls of the school, the entryway far beneath them. To the south, the Quidditch pitch rose barely lower than the tower. Looking out to the southwest, she could see the gently rolling low hills and the barns that housed the animals, the path leading to the grove and Port Daverro to the northwest. In the far corner of the island, she could make out the deep scoop of the harbor, the clean beach in the center, the pier to the west, and the rocky cove to the south. Straining her eyes, she thought she could see the sedately bobbing flag of the _Sea Wench_, but she also knew that now was definitely not the time to ask if she could go see it. The sun was burning low to the horizon, not terribly far from setting, and already glazed with the deep orange. The clouds were lightly tinted with peach, pink, and gold, and it was almost easy to forget for a moment that if she looked down, she could see the evidence of a clean slaughter.

So much for distraction.

The onyx ankh around her neck grew warm and she took it in her hand.

"Whenever you're ready, Kush, you need to come down," Clark's voice instructed her. "We need to get back and help Sachiko and Polonius settle the students."

"Yes, sir."

The three came back down the stairs, their breath coming a little short by the time they reached the bottom, and rejoined Clark at the courtyard. "What's happening to the townsfolk?" she asked suddenly.

"Ellette Chantrea is herding them for now," Kraven answered, coming over the bridge in time to hear the question. "The mayor of Ashton has offered to let the feds temporarily enlarge the town and build houses so that they can stay near the remaining students. They did, however, want to know if the house elves would be remaining here or going to Avistrum."

"They're staying here," Headmaster Sinclair told him. "They'll need to be here to keep the protections up on the statues."

"What?"

"I'll fill you in later, Kraven," Clark promised absently. "For now, we need to get back. Dennis, as soon as you have numbers and names, send them."

"You and the generals," Dennis agreed, eyeing Kushiel thoughtfully.

They walked back down to Port Daverro, leaving Headmaster Sinclair with his students, and continued on to the bikes in the square.

It was a long, silent ride back to Avistrum.

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It was full dark when they got back, having come afoul of some contrary winds, They left the bikes at Mistress Craefter's, and the woman told Kushiel to keep the coat; chances were, the extra protection wouldn't go awry in the near future. The Tourgique students were in the Great Hall along with everyone else, and they could hear the noise from there.

"Kushiel, after the meal, come to the staff room," Clark ordered. "We'll need your view on things there, and your explanation."

"Yes, sir." Without waiting for anything further, she slipped into the Great Hall and joined Carriegan at the Colubrae tables, her entrance alone not causing any kind of fuss. Glancing across the hall, she could see her other friends sitting at their assigned House tables, and she supposed that was for the benefit of the Tourgique transplants as much as for keeping an eye on who was present.

"Is it true, what they're saying?" Carriegan asked in a low voice.

"I dunno, it depends on what they're saying."

"The Sculptor attacked Tourgique?"

"That's true." She sighed and buried her face in her hands. "They got Devryn," she told her softly.

"Oh, Circe," the metamorph breathed. "His poor family."

"Exactly."

The doors opened forcefully and Clark, Kraven, and Tyler walked in, coats billowing around them and the Eye of Horus blazing at the Headmaster's eye. The Tourgique professors and staff were already seated up at the hastily elongated High Table when Clark stood in front of his seat. He called for silence and got it near instantly.

"For those of you who are new here, I say welcome," he began gravely. "I wish it could be under better circumstances, but we will do the best we can. At first, until we all settle into these new arrangements, things will likely be awkward and confusing. I just ask that you all, Tourgique and Avistrum alike, bear with us until we can smooth out the kinks. A great tragedy has happened today, but even as I tell you this, I tell you also that there is still hope. There is a chance that we may be able to reverse what's happened in time."

A ragged cheer rose up at that from the Tourgique students, taken up a moment later by the Avistrum students who weren't entirely sure what they were looking at, but who felt that some measure of support might be nice.

"You'll find that most of the houses are fairly similar," he continued with a slight smile, "so we have seated you with the house most similar to your own. Classes are going to be cancelled on Monday, so you've got two days to meet your new fellows and have them show you around the castle, and that will give us time to come up with the best way for everyone to continue their classes. For now, however, I suggest we all eat and build up our strength for the trying times ahead."

A blue eyed blonde with a scar running through one eyebrow was sitting across from the metamorph and the redhead, and she regarded them frankly. "Valerian Quinn, Diadema prefect," she stated simply.

"Carriegan Ellette Chantrea, Kushiel de Navarre," Carriegan introduced the both of them. "Colubrae Queens."

"Ellette Chantrea?" Valerian echoed thoughtfully.

"She's my aunt," she answered the unspoken question.

"Ah. Very nice."

At the Enigmus table, Cliona was making her own introduction. "Cliona McCullough, Enigmus House," she named herself, holding out her hand to the blonde next to her.

The other girl shook her hand and gave a tremulous smile. "Trouble. Well, Audrey Deserand, but I've been called Trouble since before I could walk. I'm an Impari prefect."

Tyler shook the hand of the short, round man he found seated next to him. "Tyler Ward, Care of Magical Beasts and Arithmancy."

He found his hand seized and shaken most enthusiastically. "Ah, so you're Tyler! It's good to finally meet you, though I wish it had been at a conference of something. Avram Michaels, Practical Magizoology. I'm with Navitas House, though I'm originally from the Timmernak Academy for Boys. I decided to go elsewhere, where they wouldn't be embarrassed by hands-on lessons with unicorns. You would think that wouldn't be so important in an all boys school, but there you are."

Tyler couldn't help but chuckle. Avram's good nature seemed to be contagious.

The professors paired off by subject where they could, though it made the gaps in the Tourgique staff even more apparent. Adante sat with the soft spoken Andros Kelly, discussing the maritime laws of the late seventeenth century, while Kraven sat stoically between the silent Divinations professor Nina Agstani and the very handsome, boyishly charming, and extremely talkative Quidditch coach and flying instructor Tristan Pavo. The meal was eaten in mostly stilting conversation, where it happened at all; most were still too deep in shock to even eat, much less talk.

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After dinner, Kushiel surrendered Valerian to Carriegan's care, heading up to the staff room. She was one of the first people there, after Sachiko and Polonius, and she nodded politely to them as she went to her desk in the corner, settling on top of it so she could watch everything that went on. Despite the Headmaster's words, she had a feeling her opinion wouldn't be needed; they weren't here to talk about what happened, they were here to talk about what to do next. She couldn't help them with that.

Headmaster Sinclair nodded slightly to her when he walked in, a gleam of humor in his brown eyes, and she was beginning to rather the like the older man. He struck her as a mix of her Papa Lauren and her Grandpère, only with a little more backbone than either of her grandfathers could readily claim. The women in her family, on both sides, tended to be somewhat strong-willed. Well, except for Rhonwyn, but she was getting there. Professor Kelly also gave her an appraising look, and she guessed that Professor Avarra had mentioned her in either letters or dinner conversation.

Ellette Chantrea spied her as soon as she came in and walked over to give her a kiss on the cheek, pulling out a chair near the desk. Carriegan's aunt was a tall, slender woman, with the same naturally pale skin as her niece when Carriegan bothered to go semi-au naturel. With her livelihood based on working with Potions, Ellette's rich mass of blue-black hair was caught back in a plain black snood, a thick braid looping over the edge of it to hold all the pins. Lavender-blue eyes held a sometimes uncomfortable amount of knowledge, but she knew Ellette was as fun-loving as her niece. Long, slender fingers, extremely graceful in preparing ingredients, tapped restlessly on her knee as they waited for the meeting to start.

Once Mayor Keene had come in, his flyaway grey hair wisping out from his temples, they closed the door. It gave the room a very stifled feeling, having almost twice as many people as it was designed to, but hopefully the meeting wouldn't last too long.

"How are the townsfolk settling?" Clark asked right off the bat, and Ellette snorted eloquently. Mayor Keene gave her a slightly worried glance, but she showed no signs of volunteering further information. "It would help if the feds would allow the civilians to assist," he allowed. "With only a handful of people constructing the buildings, it's going to take a week at the minimum to get as many as we need to house everyone, even if we share houses. If they would allow us to help, we have enough experienced magical carpenters between the two towns to get all the buildings up in two, maybe three days."

"I'll speak to Dennis about it before he leaves. Miss Chantrea," he went on, realizing how odd it seemed to be addressing that to someone other than Carriegan, "how are the people themselves?"

"In shock, frightened, mildly disgruntled, clingy, worried, upset, panicking," she summed up succinctly. "But they'll get over it in time. It'll help to give them something to do, like Mayor Keene said."

"Clark, how are we going to manage to fit everyone?" Sachiko asked, a question that was on many minds. "There just isn't enough space in the dormitories to add many more beds, and there aren't enough guest chambers for everyone."

"Can we create more space in pre-existing conditions?"

"Not that any of us have the qualifications for," Polonius discounted. "That's a special training that architects and designers spend years mastering. It's why they can afford to charge an arm and a leg."

"Ask the castle nicely."

They turned to look at Kushiel, who realized she must be more out of sorts than she'd thought; she hadn't meant to speak. "What?"

She flushed slightly under their regard, but merely nodded. "If you ask the castle nicely, and tell it basically what you need, it'll work with you, like when I needed the extra wall in your office, sir. The school has been steeped in magic for centuries, so while it's not an awareness, per se, there is a small degree of sentience. As Headmaster, you would have the best chance of it. It may not do _exactly_ what you think it will, but it'll do what needs to be done."

Clark sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which was already starting to grow out again. "A student knows more about the castle than I do."

"How do you think she's gotten away with half of what she has?" Kushiel pouted at her Head of House, who merely rolled his eyes. "You do realize you're not doing anything other than proving my point?"

"You do realize that if I prove your point well enough, they'll eventually stop trying to catch me?"

Barrister Manheim, professor of Arithmancy and head of Diadema House, smiled slightly. He now knew which house to liken to his own.

"Moving on," Clark grated, giving both Kraven and Kushiel a warning look, which both patently ignored, "we need to figure out what to do about classrooms. I think we'll all want to keep the students in as similar a routine as possible."

"Would it be possible to ask the school to create additional classrooms as well as additional dormitories?" Andros Kelly offered quietly. "Then we could keep to our own lesson plans, keep our students to some semblance of normalcy, but they can interact with the other students between classes and in the evenings."

"That sounds like a good plan," Clark agreed. "I think we also need to make it a rule that no student goes off campus unaccompanied by a staff member. I know your students will want to see the townsfolk, but it's too dangerous to let them go running amok right now."

Kraven and Tyler both pointedly looked at Kushiel, who smiled back innocently.

"Can our students continue in their own uniforms, or would you like us to ask them to transfigure them to match your own?" Matteo asked.

"How much of a difference is it?"

"Black pleated skirts for the girls, black slacks for the boys, white dress shirts that are tucked in, either school or House ties, dress shoes," he shrugged, listing them off. "Not so very different, black instead of grey."

"I see no reason why they can't continue on. They are, after all, still students of Tourgique. The classes are just temporarily relocated."

"What did you mean when you said there may be a way to reverse what happened?" Tristan Pavo asked suddenly. His aunt, the school healer, had been one of the ones turned into stone, and he had a keen interest in seeing it undone.

"Kush?"

"Thanks ever so," she muttered as all eyes turned to her once more. She took a breath and once again went through the explanation on the levels of permanence within transmogrification, Mordecai adding in his two cents when she was done. He had finished reading the articles after her Portable Floo call, and while there wasn't much to add, it was still good to know that there were limits.

"On that jolly note," Kraven announced, standing up and stretching, "I think we should see about getting the castle adjusted before the students tear apart the Great Hall."

As the professors filed out, and Clark headed to his office to see if he could get the school building to understand what he needed, Andros walked up to the redhead sitting in the corner, clearing his throat slightly to get his attention. "Are you Kushiel de Navarre?" he asked when she trained emerald eyes on him.

"Yes, sir, I am. How can I help you?"

He smiled warmly, and if it didn't quite reach his hazel eyes, it was at least understandable. "Professor Avarra mentioned that you were interested in possibly doing at internship at Tourgique in History of Magic," he commented. "I just wanted to let you know that, if you still wish as you come closer to graduation, the offer is there."

"Thank you," she replied, too weary from the day for surprise. "I greatly appreciate that, and I'll give it due consideration before I give an official answer."

He nodded thoughtfully and left her in the corner.

"Andros is always quiet," Ellette commented, getting to her feet. "It's not an indication of shortness, and I daresay you'll do well with him."

"Are you going to see Carriegan?"

"Before I head back to Ashton, yes. I have a specialized Dreamless Sleep for her; she always has nightmares after one of her Dreams comes true. Good night, Kush."

"Good night, ma'am."

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The answer the school came up with was both startling and practical. Each house common room suddenly sprouted two more hallways, one leading off for the Tourgique boys, the other for Tourgique girls. It allowed the similar houses to share the common room and get to know one each other. It was an ideal situation in the midst of madness, and it suited everyone perfectly well.

Kushiel lay in her bed, staring up at the forest green canopy, all but black in the darkness, and couldn't sleep. At all. It wasn't even the restless tossing and turning of half-dozing, or the wakeful sleep of active dreaming. Her eyes simply refused to close.

Finally, she gave up and reached for her dressing gown and flip flops, twisting her hair into a heavy rope and coiling it on the back of her head, keeping it there with a cleverly placed barrette. Slipping out of the portrait, she found herself face to knee with Aleator Boudreaux, the Colubrae House poltergeist.

"And where do you think you're heading off to, little miss?" he drawled, touching his fingers to his hat in polite greeting.

"I was thinking on heading out to the barn," she told him honestly, Gany twining about her ankle anxiously.

"Well, then, I'll be escorting you out there, Headmaster's orders," he informed her, but he didn't see at all disgruntled to be babysitting the living so she left it at that. She scooped up Ganymede and walked alongside the poltergeist, who showed a great deal of consideration in floating lower to the ground so she wasn't craning her neck back to look up at him.

She was utterly unsurprised to see a light still on in the floor level of the barn.

"I'll leave you to Professor Ward," Aleator grinned. Maybe he could make poker tonight after all. "Just make sure that if he doesn't walk you back up to the school, you holler for one of us spooks."

"Best not let Lady Fey hear you calling her that," she twitted him. "She'll have your hide. Again."

His booming laughter rolled around her and he glided away, checking to make sure he had the trick cards in the breast pocket of his suit coat.

"I thought I heard something," Tyler greeted her as she walked in. He was wearing what he called his company pajamas; the same dark blue pajamas and brown velvet dressing gown she'd seen at Christmas.

"You were expecting me," she noted, taking the proffered mug of doctored hot chocolate.

"I figured you wouldn't be able to sleep. Would you like to head up to the loft?"

"Sure."

The kittens, however, had already expected the customary venture, and the pair of them were busy wrestling with the rungs of the ladder. Surprisingly enough, they were actually succeeding, in a slow, amusing, and exceedingly awkward fashion. Their people watched until they finally gained the ledge, the animals promptly indulging in a celebratory sheathed-claws wrestling match in the hay. Chuckling, their humans ascended with much more ease and settled themselves in their usual place down by the window, a blanket already spread over their preferred haystack.

"So were you having nightmares, or were you just unable to sleep?" he asked finally.

She shook her head ruefully. "I think you may know me entirely too well."

"That's a frightening thought."

"Isn't it, though?"

"So you couldn't sleep?"

She laughed wearily. "Right. How'd you guess?"

"Your hair isn't all over the place."

"I don't know if it would have been as bad if I hadn't recognized Devryn," she confessed, rotating her mug in her hands. "It was almost as if it was easier when they really were just statues. But then I recognized him, and I couldn't put it to the side anymore. I couldn't just think, I _had_ to feel."

"Feeling is never easy," he agreed, watching her carefully as he finished off his own drink. "But there's something else troubling you, too."

"Isn't that enough?"

"For most people, sure," he agreed with a laugh. "You're not most people, meine kinde."

She sighed and shook her head again, feeling the weight of hair on the back of her skull. Setting the mug aside, she stared out across the moon drenched grounds of the school. "I think they're aware," she told him lowly. "The people that are captured in stone, I mean. I think they're still aware of what's going on. They'd have to be, to still be in pain, and both Evangelion Herare and Carr specifically mentioned that the stone was in pain in their dreams. So those that weren't Crucio'd are aware of what's going on around them, but can't do anything. And those that were…" she trailed off and shuddered. "Who knows how long they'll be undergoing the curse. I honestly don't believe that anyone in that Great Hall is going to have a mind when we finish this out."

"That's a bit dark, isn't it?"

"But you don't disagree."

He pulled her into his lap, clicking away the barrette so he could smooth her hair. They were back on school grounds, so he couldn't kiss away her fears the way he desperately wanted, but that didn't mean he couldn't offer her some comfort. "I don't know. We don't know the exact details. Maybe their sensation of the curse is muffled through the stone."

"But if it's not?"

"Then Saint Alçuin's will have a great many patients in its Incurables Ward," he told her grimly, knowing that he couldn't comfort her with lies.

"Damn him," she hissed. "Pandora was made to be a curse on mankind, but even she had the sense to keep hope in the box and not release it."

"Hope?"

"The worst of all demons. And the Headmaster has foolishly given them hope."

They sat for a time in silence, the steady journey of his hand on her hair, starting at her scalp and flowing down the length of her back, proving to be as soothing as his company. She was vaguely surprised to find herself nodding off, nuzzling into him, but his rich voice watched over her. "Sleep, Kush. You need it."

As the petite redhead drifted off into slumber, Tyler unconsciously held her a little tighter, watching the clouds roll out to hide the moon. A soft, steady rain began some time later, but it didn't show any signs of turning into a full storm. She raised very valid concerns, and he couldn't help but agree, although he really didn't want to. So wrapped up was he in his gloomy thoughts that he entirely missed the muted whimper from the girl cradled in his embrace. He looked down sharply when she shifted, pushing against his chest, though her eyes were still firmly closed.

"Wake up, Kushiel." He shook her gently, his lips brushing against her temple. "Come on, meine kinde, wake up."

Her eyes snapped open suddenly, locking onto his as she reestablished herself.

"What was it?" he asked lowly.

"I was in the graveyard at home," she answered brokenly, looking away and sniffing. "I was sitting where I usually do, at the foot of Henri-Michel and Arianrhod, and all of a sudden, they looked down at me. They said they were in pain, and I needed to release the. And I looked out over all the rest of the graveyard, and the statuary was reaching for me with stone hands, and the people from Tourgique kept coming into view, joining the rest. And then I saw others, and I didn't recognize their faces but I knew their names from the reports, and some of them were screaming endlessly, without even taking pause for breath." She laughed humorlessly. "Then again, what need has stone for air?"

He held her painfully tight, her face buried against his chest. "I'm sorry," he whispered against her hair. "I'm so sorry. We should never have pulled you into this at all, and now you're right here in the thick of it."

"I've been in the thick of it," she reminded him gently, "but as long as I'm here, I'll just have to deal with it."

"Not alone, though," he swore, blue eyes hard. "You're not alone."

"No, I'm not alone." She hesitated briefly before laying her palm flat against his chest, feeling the heart beating beneath it. "I'm not sure if I want to go back to sleep," she admitted sheepishly.

"Just stay with me," he murmured. "If you sleep, you sleep. If you dream, you dream. The important thing is that I'm here when you wake up."

Safe in this reassurance, she sat nestled against him until she finally sank back into sleep, a light doze that probably wouldn't afford any dreams. Tyler remained awake, even after the kittens stopped their play and curled up around each other in Kushiel's lap, watching her to see if she needed to be awoken. Dawn crested through a misty haze, a cheerless lightening of fog and drizzling rain. "Lady Eos," he whispered, "if you still watch over Prometheus' children, help us now. Now, more than ever, we need light."

It started raining harder.


	23. Where There's Smoke

**Disclaimer: Neither Potterverse nor Avistrum belong to me; Tourgique can be claimed by the Queens and our Cohorts, so thbt!**

_A/N1: These next few chapters will be short, but I didn't want them cluttered, so I broke them up. You'll forgive me, won't you? puppy eyes_

_A/N2: And, just because I haven't done this in a while, kudos out to :Carriegan, Cliona, Elena, Aurelia, Guy, Gwen, Raven, and our newer students, Trouble, Vally, Vin, Von, Poohbear, and the puppy Phydoux. Cookies!_

**Chapter 23: Where There's Smoke**

Easter break found our favorite group of students once again reverting to homework parties in order to get everything done. In addition to their normal homework, their professors had started piling on extensive revision for their final exams and their HAWKS, the Avistrum equivalent of NEWTS. They couldn't quite figure out why they had to take both finals and HAWKS; weren't the standardized tests enough? But, then, the government apparently didn't care overly much for their opinion, so both sets of exams it was to be. They'd invited Trouble and Valerian (or Vally, as she'd given them permission to call her) to join them, as questions could be fielded across syllabi as easily as across subjects.

They did tend to get a little distracted by it, though.

"Hey, Carr, look at this!" Aurelia giggled, borrowing Vally's notebook for a minute. "Their seventh year Herbology section is called _Things That Hit Back_!"

"Really?" Carriegan, her hair showing House spirit in silver streaked green, leaned over to get a better look.

Their voices echoed oddly in the otherwise empty hall. Nearly all of the Avistrum students had gone home for Easter break, their parents wanting physical reassurance of their well-being after the string of attacks. To the surprise of many, the majority of Tourgique students had also left the castle, but not to go home. Instead, they'd found willing homes with the relocated townsfolk in Ashton, who had been only glad to put up the children. Trouble wisely guessed that any parents wouldn't have allowed them to come back if they'd gone home; that was her own reason for staying. As for staying in the castle, she's become friends with the girls, and it would be a relief to get away from the younger children for a while. She was fond of them, but as a prefect, it was her duty to help them with their fears after the attack, and her patience was growing short.

"Wow..half a year on dragons," Elowen sighed. "How cool is that?"

"We spend a fair amount of time on dragons," Elena defended.

"Sure, but half a year…"

"Arithmancy stays the same," Kushiel noted, flipping through the pages of information. "Different exercises, but same things."

"I'm sure you have an easier time of it," Valerian chuckled. "Professor Manheim is my Head of House, and he doesn't have much patience for stupidity in electives courses."

"An admirable sentiment."

"Lord, makes me glad I'm here." Elowen rolled her eyes. "I honestly don't know how Professor Ward puts up with me."

"He's a very patient man."

"And a hot one," Aurelia added brightly. Carriegan and Kushiel traded glances, but decided it would be safer not to comment.

Guy strode in with his books in his arms, the hilt of a sword protruding from near his ear. Since the shadowvines had entered the school, he'd taken to wearing Raukoris, his family's ancestral sword, strapped across his back, just in case. "Am I too late to join in?" he asked.

"Of course not, come on." Gwen shifted aside to make room for him.

"How many drops of blood you do you put into a blood binding potion?"

"Depends on the level of the binding and the familial relation of the binder and the bindee," Kushiel answered Elena's query absently, brow furrowed over the outline for her History of Magic essay.

"What about non-familial bindings?"

"You'd have to find a different recipe; we never went over those in class."

"Why not?" The infirmary assistant asked with a scowl.

"I don't think Professor Greywolf wants us experimenting on each other," she replied dryly.

Trouble frowned and shook her crystal globe like an 8-ball. "Now will you work, you stupid thing?" It remained obstinately cloudy.

"Not much for Divinations, are you?"

Trouble smiled ruefully. "I belong to the Impari branch of stupidity," she admitted. "Taking every class I can without paying attention to whether I'm suited for it or not."

"Hmm, sounds familiar," the metamorph mused, casting an eye at her fellow Colubrae.

"Shush, you," the redhead retorted, sticking out her tongue at her friend. "They're interesting."

"What were you guys brewing in Potions today?" Aurelia asked Trouble and Valerian curiously. She had actually been banned from ever stepping foot in the Potions classroom after fifth year, after which time the number of catastrophes and explosions had dropped precipitously, but Teaching Assistant Moffat, in retreating from her office, had pronounced the stench to be near unbearable, and this from a woman who had worked with potions almost her entire life!

Both Tourgique students gagged and made faces. "Dwyre Arcanus," Valerian groaned. "It's a really complicated locus potion, but it stinks to high heaven."

"Yeh, it does," Kushiel and Carriegan agreed at the same time, Elena only half a breath behind them. They'd actually had to work in the room next to it.

From between the ajar double doors, grey Ganymede came sauntering in, tail waving like a parasol behind him. Close at his heels was a golden Lhasa Apso, stumbling over his own paws for the fur hanging over his eyes in a fuzzy fringe. The dog clambered up on the table without a second thought, greeting them all with proprietary licks on the nose and flopping down on top of the momentarily unused books.

"Who is this?" Elown giggled, running a hand over the long, shaggy fur.

"That's Phydoux," Trouble grinned. "He's a stray that adopted Tourgique a couple of years ago. We're not even actually sure how he got on the island."

"He could have hitched a ride on the steamboat from New Orleans," Valerian pointed out, scratching the ecstatic canine behind the ears. The tail thumped lazily against the table and Carriegan's leg impartially.

Carriegan quirked an eyebrow, scootching to one side so the tail wouldn't hit her anymore. "Someone actually named a dog Fido?" she asked incredulously. "How entirely unimaginative."

"More pretentious than unimaginative," Trouble disagreed, sipping at her lightly steaming coffee. "It's spelled P-h-y-d-o-u-x."

Snickering, Kushiel shook her head. "You're right, that is pretentious."

Ganymede climbed over Phydoux and sprawled along his back, his longer, more flexible tail twitching against his new friend's flank. After being around Cliona, whom he absolutely adored, for three months, he had no fear of his species' inherent rivals.

"So are the rumors trued that two students gained Animagi this year?" the Diadema prefect inquired idly, aimlessly turning pages in her Charms book.

"Yup!" Elowen beamed proudly, fine fawn brown hair wisping about her face as it fled her ponytail. "Kush and I got them!"

"Professor Beckham was uber-bummed that none of ours got it this year. So what are you?" The Avistrum students except for Elowen and Kushiel groaned, and Trouble raised her eyebrows. "What'd I say?"

"They won't tell us, the dorks!" Aurelia groused, twisting one of her pigtails into a tight, thin rope. "They haven't told anyone!"

"We're keeping it a secret for graduation," Kushiel reminded her with a smirk.

"Ah." Valerian understood completely, but then, Colubrae and Diadema weren't dissimilar.

Three boys walked into the hall, followed by a bemused Andros Kelly. They stopped just out of reach of the table full of girls.

"Can we help you?" Vally asked finally.

"We were given the suggestion of studying with you," one of them said, hefting his History of Magic books.

"Professor Kelly?"

The quiet Tourgique instructor merely smiled and spread his hands. "Oh, no, I just want to watch."

"Vin, Von, and Poohbear," Trouble introduced easily. "I wouldn't bother trying to keep separate at first; you'll only get confused. Wait until you've been around them some more, and it'll get clearer."

Silence met the pronouncement, and the Avistrum girls all stared, blinking owlishly. It was Carriegan who finally said it, raising her eyebrows. "Poohbear?" She asked, voice dripping with something bordering on, but not quite reaching, disdain.

"It's a long story," the boy in question answered calmly.

"Right." Kushiel glanced at the boys' ties so she would have a vague idea of what to expect. Forest green, plum, and burgundy, respectively…Diadema, Sollers, and Navitas, if she recalled them correctly. "Join up, then. It's a free for all. Just offer a question or an answer when you get inspired."

Phydoux huffed a section of hair out of his eyes and looked at Vin, who had settled onto the bench. The pink tongue came out and licked a stripe up the Diadema boy's nose, his head returning to his appointed chin rest on top of Aurelia's Magical Beasts book.

"Is the head moving?" Poohbear asked curiously, and they all looked up to see a head on a plaque traveling along the wall of the hall.

"Oh, that's just Lysander," Carriegan dismissed.

The former vampire lord halted beside the Colubrae tables. "Just thought I'd let you know the dogs are on the loose," he sneered.

"The dogs-Oh!" Blue eyes widened as Aurelia slapped her forehead. "The pack, of course. It's a full moon!"

"Hence why Spades isn't with us, Aurelia."

"Oh, shush."

"The pack?"

The doors nudged further open, revealing eight wolves in a loose formation. Seven were the grayish-brown of true werewolves, with the longer muzzle, stretched torso, and tufted tail of the species. One, however, stood out as a natural wolf, white fur and amber-gold eyes gleaming.

"Didn't the Headmaster mention we have a werewolf pack?" Kushiel asked mildly, and the six visitors shook their heads mutely. "Oh, must've slipped his mind."

The familiar form of Cliona bounded forward, slapping her paws on the table and nuzzling the redhead's knee.

"Going to bring me back a present?" Kushiel grinned and scritched the wolf strongly behind the ears. Cliona barked once and nudged the others affectionately, turning back to join the pack.

Remus nodded gravely to the students and barked sharply. At the Alpha's command, the pack wheeled about to head outside, to the fresh, crisp air of mid-April.

"And off goes the menagerie."

"Lysander, you're an ass."

"Not anymore. The Headmaster hid that part."

"Gwen!"

The sweet-looking brunette grinned.

"Oh, the day I reclaim my body-"

"Lysander, please don't tell us what you're hands will be doing." Gwen twitted him. "We're impressionable young women."

"And making a wonderful impression now, I'm sure," Carriegan murmured, eyeing the startled Professor Kelly.

"Have you studied the European Marriage Laws at all?" Von asked in the short silence that followed, glancing down at a notebook covered in messy scrawls that might have been class notes.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From Marriage Laws, they moved onto transmutative ratios in flexible equation sets, to the healing properties of phoenix tears versus salamander's blood, to the alder tree as a symbol of strength of spirit or instability of rage, to the transfigurative properties of bone versus ivory…in short, the broad, far-reaching minutiae of a standard multi-subject homework party.

What wasn't part of the traditional gathering was the alarms going off a little before midnight. That one was entirely new.

Closing all of her books, Kushiel ran to the entrance hall, closely followed by the others, all of their wands out and ready. She grabbed the ankh she always kept on her now. "Sir? Where do you want us?"

"We don't know yet," Clark answered, and she could see him at the main landing two flights up, Excalibur clutched in one hand as he tried to shrug into his coat.

The main doors slammed open suddenly, and Tyler Ward found himself looking at a lot of wands pointed directly at him. "She came through the gates," he said without preamble, slightly out of breath from his run up to the building. "She's in the woods now."

Kushiel walked slowly to the doors and looked out, shading her eyes out of habit. The full moon drenched the grassy grounds with silver light, but in the old forest, she could see bright tongues of flame licking at the crowns, grey-black smoke barely visible against the night. She flinched as a many-voiced howl split the oddly silent stillness. "The pack!"

Clark joined them on the ground floor, passing the sword to Tyler to finally get his coat on straight. "They're Dark Creatures," he hissed, swearing under his breath for good measure. "Did She have anything with Her?"

"I didn't get that good a look," Tyler answered.

A loud howl of pain echoed eerily.

"Elo!" Kushiel snapped, shoving her wand in the sheath on her arm. "Come on!"

Clark could only gape open-mouthed as the two girls took off at a run, headed directly for the burning trees. "Goddammit, Kushiel!" he bellowed. "Next time, I'm chaining you to a table!"

"She'd probably enjoy that," Carriegan noted clinically, and Tyler tried not to laugh.

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Cliona and Callum growled fiercely, hackles raised as they stood over the wounded Morrigan. The shadowvine stalked slowly closer, red eyes gleaming, its writhing tentacles pouring from the shadows of its spine questing for them. Behind them, they could sense Remus and Ginny protecting the other cubs, including Emme Rochon. In silent communication, Callum shifted back to straddle the whimpering cub with stiff legs.

Cliona snarled and launched herself at the creature, jaws clamping into its heavily muscled neck, claws scrabbling at its sides. They sank oddly against the tentacles that weren't quite like flesh, and she let go of her prize to allow the howl of pain to rip from her throat. She stumbled backwards, blinding pain flashing across her side, claws swiping heavily across her face and leaving agony in their wake.

A deep-throated snarl brought her attention back up, but it was difficult to focus. She'd never actually been at true odds with herself as werewolf and human, but the only thing keeping her from just joining the twisted beast before her was the call of pack, too strong to ignore. Now, finally, she understood what Callum had been trying to tell her all year.

The resonant growl of a pissed off large cat sounded suddenly through the trees, and Cliona found a solidly muscled black panther between her and the Dark Creature, its teeth bared menacingly. The two felines met in a savage flurry of claws. Tearing her eyes from the fight, Cliona whined and leaned down, nuzzling Morrigan. Wherever the leopard had come from, it seemed to be on their side. When she looked back up, the shadowvine lay dead on the ground and the newcomer regarded the wolves with piercing emerald eyes.

Forcing her mind to work through the haze of Darkness, Cliona recognized those green eyes. Kushiel! A triumphant snarl from Remus brought her attention round behind her, where a fawn brown Fresian mare was busily bashing in the skull of the other shadowvine with heavy hooves.

Kushiel gently shouldered her way between Cliona and Callum, muscles bunching with fluid power beneath her sleek black fur. She reached down and closed her jaws carefully about the back of the injured cub's neck, lifting her and flowing over to the mare. With her claws sheathed, she balanced herself against the horse's withers and draped the young wolf over the broad back.

Elowen fought with the horse's instinct as she caught the scent of the wolves, her eyes showing white, but she held herself still and trembling as her friend set Lorcan and Tommo to join their sister. It was almost too much weight, but she knew they wouldn't be going fast enough for it to be a problem.

Savage in his fury, Remus nonetheless couldn't hide the heavy gash across his front left paw and leg. Kushiel shoved the whimpering but uninjured Emme towards the Alpha, growling deep in her throat. Catching on, Ginny came to Remus' side and leaned her weight into him the same time as Emme, supporting him between them. Kushiel and Callum performed the same service for Cliona, and with Elowen pacing slowly beside them, the odd looking party started making its way back up to the school. They could see the shadowvines prowling through the trees on either side, but the creatures just watched, occasionally snarling. The other beasts halted at the fringe of the trees, leaving the pack unmolested.

A woman's voice, low and musical, rang out wordlessly, calling the creatures away from their chosen vigil.

Clark watched their progress from the doorway, and it was perhaps a credit to the adrenaline pumping through his system that he simply accepted the presence of the panther and horse. He slammed the doors as soon as they were in. Counting them quickly, he assured himself that they were all there and addressed Ginny; as a natural wolf, she wouldn't be feeling the seductive lure of the Persephone's Dark call the way the others were. "If we lock you into the larger storeroom off the infirmary, will you have what you need to tend to everyone's wounds?" he asked.

"Lock them in?" Aurelia demanded incredulously. "But they could help-"

"Oh, Aurelia, stop drooling over the professors and actually pay attention in class!" Carriegan snapped, fingers flexing around the grip of her wand. "They're Dark Creatures! Persephone could turn them against us!"

"…oh." The blonde girl sighed dejectedly.

The white wolf nodded once, an odd gesture in an animal, then jerked her muzzle towards Elowen, who still had the three cubs on her back.

"Elena, do you feel safe to go with them?"

The infirmary assistant looked up at the Headmaster with wide, startled eyes. "Sir?"

"Mrs. Lupin will need help with the healing," Clark explained calmly. "Callum can't help, and we need Nurse Kayenta with us."

"Yes, sir, I'll go." Swallowing hard, Elena gently pulled Morrigan off of Elowen, cradling the pup against her chest, the gangly limbs spilling out over her arms. Carriegan helped Lorcan down, while Gwen did the same with Tommo, setting the boys down on the tile floor. Lorcan immediately went to Cliona's side to help support her.

Satisfied that at least that problem was solved, Clark turned his attention to the next issue at hand. A score of Tourgique sixth and seventh years remained, as well as a baker's dozen of Avistrum students, though this included Cliona and Elena. Both faculties were there as well, making the entrance hall rather crowded. The students were all older, so he regretfully decided that he would have to allow them to fight. He didn't want children fighting, but at this point, he didn't really see as he had any alternative. He certainly couldn't forbid them to defend themselves, and if the professors were overrun, they would just have to anyway.

"Polonius, would you stop that!" Kraven snapped.

Clark pulled himself from his thoughts to see his transfigurations instructor stroking the horse's neck. "What?" Polonius asked innocently.

"That is a student!"

"It's also a horse," he pointed out mildly, but he did stop.

Shaking her head in irritation, the mare suddenly started blurring, joints shifting and changing, and a moment later, Elowen stood panting before them, cheeks flushed with the exertion.

In the midst of the cheers and applause, the Headmaster stared at her with a sinking feeling of dread. If the horse was Elowen, that meant-

He turned sharply to see the powerfully built black panther stretching languidly. The leopard gave him a piercing green gaze and he scowled. "Kitten my ass."

Whiskers twitching in delicate feline laughter, the black panther began to blur. A moment later, a snickering Kushiel stood in its place, three parallel lines on the side of her neck bleeding sluggishly. He was standing close enough to her that despite the renewed applause, he could still hear the insolent purr the redhead trilled mockingly into his ear.


	24. Forsaken

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Avistrum. Anything else has a fifty-fifty chance. **

_A/N: Please review! I'll love you forever! Hell, I may even give you virtual treats for it. _

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Forsaken**

"When do you suppose he'll get around to asking us what we saw when we were out there?" Elowen murmured, twirling a lock of fawn brown hair around her index finger.

Kushiel snickered into her hand, resisting the urge to scratch underneath the hasty bandages Nurse Kayenta had wrapped around her neck "Elo, you're supposed to be the nice one."

"It's not my fault he's running around like a chicken with its head cut off."

"Where's Colonel Sanders when you need him?" Carriegan muttered, her hair flashing to a more subdued black.

An unusually grim faced Fineus handed several of the girls three foot foils. They weren't as broad as the blades held by the faculty, but at least they weren't being insulted with fencing foils. He held the final one out of reach of Aurelia's grasp and gave it instead to Vally. Rolling his eyes at the blonde's pout, he shook his head. "Love you dearly, Clubs, but you'd stick the wrong end in them. I am not giving you something that'll hurt you more than the beastie."

"Can we mess up her hair and blame it on the shadowvines?"

Aurelia frowned, but wisely said nothing.

Sliding the foil through a reinforced belt loop, Kushiel walked over to the visiting boys. "Do you know how to use blades?"

Vin looked at her solemnly, then grinned. Normally, the look on his face might have frightened her, but it was oddly reassuring. "We head up the fencing club at school," he told her. He pulled the sword from her loop and saluted her with it, giving an extra flourish.

"Pretty," she noted. "But can you do anything with it?"

The tall boy's grin slowly turned feral, and he nodded slowly. "We can do a great deal with them," he promised.

She smiled tightly at him. It would do. Glancing around, she pulled them a short distance away from the others. "Keep a close eye on Aurelia, Gwen, and the sixth years; they'll be backing us up with magic on the non-shadowvines. If the Headmaster doesn't get around to it, we'll separate you boys to keep each of you with a clump of non-sharps."

"We look to you then?" Von clarified, pulling a knife from a sheath on his lower leg. He polished it absently and transfigured it to a full sword, broader than the ones held by the girls.

"Unless something better comes along? Sure, why not?"

"That's what I like, a leader with confidence."

The redhead shot Poohbear a glance but smiled. "As long as it gets done." She stole back her sword and gestured to the other girls, bringing them clustering about her. Guy loosened Raukoris in its sheath, joined a moment later by the other sword-wielding seventh years. There weren't many.

"What are we looking at, Diamonds?" Carreigan demanded sharply.

"Lots of shadowvines," Elowen reported, pulling her hair back into a neater ponytail. "They lined the edge of the trees, and there could even have been more. I didn't recognize the other creature."

"The other beastie was a grimmore," Kushiel clarified.

"We never covered those in Magizoology," Trouble frowned.

"You wouldn't have. Defense Against Dark Magic, maybe, but they're not all that common. It's very large, apelike. Your average grimmore stands about seven feet tall. They're enormously strong, covered in coarse black fur. Early magizoologists confused them for silver-back gorillas, except the gorillas don't have extremely sharp teeth and a taste for flesh. So far as I know, magic will harm them as it does anything else. Aim for the neck with magic; it keeps its head ducked down to protect it, usually. Try to avoid getting near it with a sword. Their reach is a hell of a lot longer than ours."

"When did you become a Magical Beasts expert?" Guy marveled.

"I've been talking to Professor Michaels, seeing what else we might come up against. Don't waste your magic against shadowvines, it won't work very well. Keep to your swords, if you have them."

"How are we splitting up?"

"I want at least two sword wielders with each group. We'll split the rest up as needed. So far as magic users go, I want three categories. Offensive, defensive, and healing. Pick your strongest and make sure that it's as even as possible across the groups."

"What about the professors?"

"They're their own group."

"Kush."

The students turned as one to regard Professor Bloodthorne standing with his arms crossed over his chest. "Yes, sir?"

"Six groups. We want to keep everything to the Great Hall if we can."

The barest of smiles floated across her lips and she nodded briefly, turning back to her peers. "You heard him. Swords to one side, let's figure out the magic users."

Tyler's hand curled around the hilt of his sword as he listened to Clark chant the incantations to raise the wards to their fullest extent. "She's a proper little general, isn't she?" he murmured.

Kraven snorted in appreciation. "I don't know what the hell we did with these kids, but apparently we did something right."

"Is it wrong that I want to lock them all away from this?"

"No." Dark brown eyes traveled over the cluster of students, from both Avistrum and Tourgique. He could see fear in the faces, tightly controlled, but more than that, a steady determination. These students, barely into their majority, were not going to run. "We've taught them well, Tyler. Now we have to trust in that."

"That's hard."

"Do we have a choice?"

The tall professor considered that for a moment. "No, I don't suppose we do."

"Kush, were there people?" Valerian asked quietly.

Green eyes narrowed fiercely. "Yes," she answered lowly. "But from what I could see of them, we're not dealing with anyone like Rafael. These people know what they're doing, and they're enjoying it."

"I don't know if I could kill a person," Elowen admitted with a gulp.

"Then concentrate on the shadowvines, Elo," her friend answered coolly. "You don't have to aim at the humans."

"What about Her?"

"She's there, but I don't think she's going to be a problem at first."

"Why do you say that?"

"Call it a feeling."

"I'll trust it," Carriegan muttered.

"Something seems a little off about Clark's preparations," Kraven commented absently, feeling the tingle of magic across the back of his neck.

"How about the fact that they're completely useless?" Kushiel suggested, coming up to him. Behind her, the students walked into the Great Hall in six distinct groups, planning quietly amongst themselves.

"How do you mean?"

The Colubrae student could have given him an extended explanation on the exact fallacies, could have spent a great deal of time outlining the specifics. She was well placed in her house, though, and answered with a single word. "Haddi."

Kraven stared at her, his long fingers stroking along his neatly trimmed goatee. "You can't possibly be serious." The trouble, though, was that he knew she was. Clark had explained to them Kushiel's theory on the torn little elf, and it made a great deal of sense. It didn't make him any happier.

He was still gaping at her when the Headmaster came over to them, brushing long dark hair out of his eyes. "Where are all the students?"

"Waiting in the Great Hall," Kushiel told him quietly. "They have their assignments, and they'll stick to it."

"Their assignments?"

"Clark, I'm perfectly capable of giving a passel of eighteen year olds orders," Kraven drawled insultingly.

As Clark flushed hotly, the redhead carefully hid her smile. It was all perfectly true, of course. Her Head of House was eminently capable of giving the orders; he'd simply chosen not to. "How much energy did you just use up on the wards, sir?" she inquired innocently, ignoring the Divinations professor's sharp look.

"More than I wanted to," Clark admitted ruefully. "But if we can keep them out of the school, it'll be worth it."

"And if we can't?"

He glowered at her quirked eyebrow. "Pessimism is really going to fray my last good nerve, Kitten."

"Not pessimism," she refuted calmly. "Fact."

"What?"

"Is the energy expended worth it if we don't keep them out of the school?" she repeated patiently.

"Do I want to move farther away for this next bit?" Tyler whispered.

"Probably," his dour colleague answered, and neither of them moved an inch.

Sighing, Clark ran a hand through his hair, smoothing the one stray hair back into place. "If it buys us time, yes," he told her finally. "Dennis has the SWAT teams mobilizing, but it'll take him some time to get here. If we can keep the wards up long enough for them to get here, then yes, it's worth it."

"And if-"

"Enough with the what ifs!" he thundered suddenly. "The wards are as old as the castle! They will hold!"

"Haddi."

He stopped short, the blood draining from his face. "Oh, shit."

"You forgot about Haddi!" Kraven demanded incredulously. "How could you **FORGET** about-"

"Sir, go kiss Professor Kobiyashi or something," Kushiel interrupted, pushing politely at her Head of House.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, if you're doing something more productive with your mouth, you might not stick your foot in it."

There was something distinctly wrong with a student telling him to go kiss someone, but it made a sick kind of sense. Besides, he wanted to throttle his nominal superior, and spending time with Sachiko right before they engaged in a battle for their lives might be the nice thing to do. With a final growl for the sake of principle, he stalked off to find the diminutive Charms professor.

Once Kraven was safely out of hearing range, Kushiel turned back to the scowling Headmaster, her hands planted on her hips. "I'm not snarking right now," she said quickly, cutting him off. "I'll embarrass the hell out of you later, but right now, we need to get things done. The students are divided into six groups, each group containing sword fighters, offensive spell strengths, defensive spell strengths, and at least one person who knows some healing spells. We're aware of what we're up against. Are you?"

His dark eyes focused on her face. It took some effort, but he pulled his thoughts back together into some semblance of order. "Tell me."

So she did. As he paced about the entrance hall, she told him what she and Elowen had seen out in the smoke choked forest. She gave him what numbers she could, but gave him the same warning she had issued the others. He took in the information with a thoughtful frown, his cloak swirling about his ankles with each turn of his pacing. "So you saw Persephone," he clarified.

"Yes, sir. She's still a beautiful woman."

Making a face, Clark traced a finger along the Eye of Horus blazing around his right eye. "You frighten me sometimes, Kitten."

"And we're all aware of that, sir."

He stopped suddenly and grabbed one of her hands, squeezing it painfully tight in his intensity. "Tell me I'm doing the right thing in letting children fight and kill."

Setting aside, for the moment, the months of tension between them, she took her other hand and cupped his cheek gently. "At eighteen years old, we're hardly children. In nearly every country in the world, we can be sent to war to kill and die. They've brought the war to us; let us defend ourselves with honor."

Leaning into her touch, Clark took a deep, shuddering breath. Throughout his career, he'd fought off countless creatures and evildoers, and yet he couldn't think of a single thing that was harder to do. "Join your group inside," he ordered quietly. "It won't be long, I think."

A small pop heralded the first arrival to the entrance hall, bringing the attention of Clark, Kushiel, and Tyler to the base of the stairs. Out of the clothing they'd become accustomed to seeing, Haddi stood there with his long ears trembling violently, wringing his bandage wrapped hands. A dark grey toga, fashioned of fine linen and pinned at the shoulders with roses of copper wrapped wire, took the place of the glaring mismatch of plastic and leather. He stared at them with tears gleaming in his large green eyes. "The Mistress is wanting it," he told them brokenly. "She's is giving orders, she's is."

Tyler and Kushiel both reached out to keep Clark from grabbing his wand. "It's quite simple," the Headmaster argued. "If we kill Haddi now, he can't let Her in!"

Haddi started shaking harder.

Reassured that the much taller Arithmancy professor had the Headmaster contained, Kushiel walked slowly to the base of the stairs and knelt down to look Haddi in the eyes. "You're blood bound, Haddi," she murmured gently. "No one can blame you."

"Can?" He squeaked. "Or does?"

"**I** don't blame you," she whispered, surprised to find that she meant it. "Do what you have to do, Haddi. Bring down the wards and let her in. Just…please. Don't do more than you were specifically ordered to do."

The long suffering house elf smiled tremulously, and with a snap of his fingers, they could feel the shuddering press of the wards shattering. "I does no more, Fire-hair," he promised, vanishing.

"He hung around Lysander too much when he was here," Tyler noted, and Kushiel snorted.

"Why did you stop me?" Clark demanded.

"You protect the innocent, sir. You would have regretted it later."

"I doubt it."

Rolling her eyes, Kushiel shook her head. "I'm joining my group. Try not to dally."

Clark and Tyler watched her disappear between the slightly ajar doors leading into the Great Hall. "We still have to split up the faculties."

"Let's get to it."

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Vindorien Dynear cast a judicious eye over the rest of his group, gauging the spread across the Gret Hall. He had Carriegan beside him, Gwen, Aurelia, and a passel of sixth years behind him. The sword, blade naked in the false light, was a comforting weight in his hand. If there had been time, he would have run to his dormitory to fetch his own, but he would make do with what he was afforded. "You might want to take off those heels, hun," he told Carriegan.

She glanced down at her modest three inch heels, shrugging. "These will be fine. I survived a game of Screaming Jumpscotch in them, fighting will be a piece of cake."

"Your choice."

He leaned down to scratch the golden Lhasa Apso behind the ears, feeling the tail thump against the back of his leg. "You ready for this, Phydoux?"

The congenial dog growled deep in his throat.

Kushiel joined Von and Raven at the other side of the High Table, her sword still slung loosely through her belt. "Ready to dance, boyo?"

"Depends, will you let me lead?"

"Only if you can take the lead."

"Fat chance of that," Raven chortled.

Professor Kelly and Coach Pavo fro the Tourgique staff and Mordecai Argiletum and Madam Scriba from the Avistrum staff joined them in their chosen corner. "I think we made a mistake," Mordecai confessed, his wand ready at wand. "We should have put more of the experienced swordsmen down near the entrance."

"More of the professors are staying down that way," Kushiel answered.

"Ah."

"Are they here yet?" Carriegan demanded impatiently.

"They'll be here soon enough, luv," Vin assured her complacently. "Give them time to get pretty."

The metamorph struggled to draw breath as a crushing weight wrapped around her chest. "I think they're here," she gasped.

"You Seeing that?" Gwen asked. "Bit late, isn't it?"

Aurelia whimpered, knuckles white against the reddish wood of her wand.

Down at the far end, a shadowvine phased through the broad doors, throwing its head back in a ferocious snarl.

"Morrigan, in your four faces, in your three bodies of Badb, Machu, and Nemain, grant us your strength this night," Kushiel prayed under her breath. "Help our blades guard against our enemies, and fly your crows' bloody wings over our contenders this day. Morrigan, multi-faced goddess of war, protect us through these early hours."

"Do you think she'll listen?" Von queried.

"At this point? Just about anything is worth a try."

Headmaster Dowling cut down the first feline, and the doors opened to a rush of shadowvines and grimmores. Behind them, holding back, they could see a score or so of human faces.

"If you can reach them with spells from here, do it," Carriegan muttered behind her. "If not, don't waste your energy."

Gwen judged the distance. "Another ten yards or so will do it, but not now."

Elowen and Poohbear stood back to back near the door, swords flashing in black-red arcs as blood streamed from the blades. Shadowvines fell all around them, but still kept coming, swelling around them to come at the others.

Barrister Manheim, Head of Diadema House, pulled out his wand and snarled a curse at a grimmore trundling ponderously forward. The rather dumb creature stopped at the sudden pain, tucking its large hands into its body to try to hold in the entrails spilling into its palms. With a startled look in its black eyes, it pitched forward onto its knees and tumbled down to the floor.

Clark winced as a shadowvine dug its teeth firmly into his leg, attempting to shake it off like a recalcitrant rat. It didn't let go, though. Swinging Excalibur up into the air, he reversed his grip on the hilt and brought it straight down into the base of the cat's skull, pulling it out to the sickening accompaniment of breaking bone. He waved off Nurse Kayenta when she approached through the mêlée, sending her instead towards the middle of the hall, where he could see Trouble and Valerian standing over an injured Emmaline.

"Why can't we get the human bastards?" Guy groused, dispatching another shadowvine.

"I'd rather play with the kitties and the chimps," Artanus countered, sending a curse flying at a grimmore. "They don't have the Killing Curse and such not."

"No, just really sharp teeth and claws."

Vin launched himself ahead of his group, sword biting deep into the shadowvines. The golden Lhasa Apso followed close at his heels. For all that it was a rather small dog, weighing at most twenty points, it fought off the creatures with a truly impressive tenacity. Phydoux very quickly picked up the trick of jumping high enough to sink his teeth into the height of the neck, pulling all of his weight with him when he fell to snap the necks. It didn't always kill them, but it did debilitate them, leaving them mostly harmless until Vin or Carriegan could finish them off. Vin ignored the claw marks shredding their way down the diagonal of his back, concentrating instead on not losing sight of any of the creatures before him.

It was an ugly fight, and once conducted in an eerie almost-silence, broken occasionally by queries or growls. There was a somewhat surreal quality to it, the tables and chairs all vanished as they had been for the Halloween dance. She knew it was tacky and inappropriate as soon as the thought came into her head, but Kushiel found it all too tempting to count out the beat to a waltz in her head and see if the motions matched.

Aurelia's squeal brought the fighting to an abrupt halt. A stocky man of medium height stood behind her, wand at her throat. "As you care for your student, enough!" he bellowed, and at his voice, the animals all retreated a short distance and sank back onto their haunches.

"Kraven, no," Clark hissed, when his colleague would have continued anyway. "He'll kill her."

"And just what the hell did you think they were planning on doing to the rest of us!"

"Drop your wands," the man ordered. "And your swords."

"Clark…"

"Kraven, we don't have a choice." Biting off savage oaths, Clark dropped both Excalibur and his wand onto the floor, kicking them a short distance away. "Do as he says," he ordered in resignation.

The human cohorts prowled along the perimeter of the hall, enforcing the Headmaster's surrender to the other faculty and students. When Guy resisted, they stunned him powerfully, dropping him to the floor along with Raukoris.

"The Dark Hunters up here, I think," the man continued thoughtfully. "The other professors do not so much matter."

Kneeling down to catch her breath, Kushiel watched with narrowed eyes as the Dark Hunters were forced up in front of the High Table. Something about the man issuing the commands niggled at her memory, though she would bet her life that she had never seen him before. Light brown hair, further lightened by a fine layer of marble dust, clung close to his head, intensely blue eyes looking out from rough-hewn features. She caught Headmaster Sinclair's knowing gaze and the connection clicked: the Sculptor!

"My Lady," a broad woman near the doors called. "They are ready for you!"

"Oh, fuck," Patience MacKendrick swore fervently, and Kushiel couldn't help but agree. In this case, there weren't too many people the title Lady could be applied to when coming from the mouth of someone fighting against them.

Through the ranks of now-docile shadowvines, all the grimmores having been killed, a tall woman stepped delicately, a black lace dress clinging to slender curves. Dark grey eyes, almost black, stared out from a pale face that was strongly sculpted. Not beautiful, but handsome, a very regal face. Black hair with the blue sheen of true black tumbled over her shoulders, caught back over one ear with a deep burgundy dried rose. A dark red cloak swirled gracefully around her, a Mona Lisa smile hovering about her painted lips as she progressed into the hall.

"And finally, I have you all before me," she stated simply, her voice low and musical.

Kushiel shivered.

"Why are you doing this, Persephone?" Clark asked wearily. "You're just going to hurt more children."

"No, I'm not," she refuted calmly. "Because now, I need harm them not. I have the ones that need to be punished." She nodded to the Sculptor, who released Aurelia and pushed her away. The terrified blonde fell sobbing into Carriegan's arms. "But something else must first be done."

Something else-Clark traded a swift glance with Kraven, unable to determine what She could have meant. "What do you mean?"

"Where is the girl?"

"What girl?" Clark shot back, a sinking feeling clutching at his heart.

Persephone ignored him, her eyes traveling over the students until they fell on the kneeling Kushiel. "Ah, yes. The one with hair like blood. Come here, child."

Kushiel gave serious thought to refusing, but one look at the Sculptor told her to choose her time more wisely. She rose to her feet and stepped into the center of the hall, stopping just before the woman. She was half a foot shorter, but looking up at her, she didn't particularly feel intimidated. Wary, certainly, but the sharp edge of fear that accompanied the creatures and the Sculptor was curiously absent.

"You're certainly a pretty thing," the woman mused, stroking the girl's pale cheek with one hand. "Rafael certainly didn't lie about that."

"You really think Rafael would have lied about anything?" she couldn't keep herself from asking.

"No." The Dark Lady smiled gently. "No, I don't believe Rafael has ever told a lie of any sort. Some things, however, one must see for oneself."

"Enjoying the view, Callia Waylen?"

"He said you see as I do," she murmured, ignoring Kushiel's taunt. "Is this so?"

"No."

"Ah, but I think it is, little artist. You, I will talk with more later. Go now."

Obedient to the command, Kushiel knelt down between Vin and Carriegan, her wounds from the shadowvines starting to throb painfully. The Sculptor stepped up to his Lady, a half dozen other humans stepping up to form a loose semi-circle in front of her. Persephone observed each Dark Hunter in turn, her dark eyes seeming to memorize every detail of them. "It's a shame, really," she said finally.

Kushiel ran through the available options in her head. Avistrum didn't teach wandless magic in anything but theory, and they had no one who had any strength in it. Some with potential, but under such circumstances, that potential could hardly be realized. Their wands were taken from them, as were their swords. That left the sword along her back, but she wasn't sure if she was quite at last resort yet. From across the hall, her eyes met Elowen's thoughtfully.

The southern belle could see the progression of her friend's thinking, and she shook her head frantically. They couldn't make two changes in one night, not with the blood that had been shed during the fighting. Even now, she could feel herself sagging against the injured Poohbear, exhausted past her ability to explain. Another change would kill them. "Kush, no," she breathed, willing the other girl to take heed and follow caution. Kushiel took a deep breath.

"Ideals will claim their price, though," Persephone continued, oblivious to the silent exchanges. "And those who would destroy beauty must in turn be destroyed."

A small hum of magic washed over the group in the far right corner as the semi-circle of men and women raised their wands. Mouths opened to speak, and a black blur launched itself from the small knot of students huddling together, aiming at delicate throats.


	25. When Angels Deserve to Die

**Disclaimer: Neither Harry Potter nor Avistrum belong to me, anything else, you'll just have to guess.**

_A/N: Virtual oatmeal raisin cookies and snickerdoodles to reviewers._

**Chapter Twenty-Five: When Angels Deserve to Die**

Clark took a deep breath and closed his eyes, bowing his head. He could feel the heavy, bitter tang of fear and blood in his mouth, failure a dark weight on his mind. They'd been successful for so many years, it hadn't ever really occurred to him that they could actually fail completely. Burdened by that knowledge, he waited for death to come at him in a brilliant green wave. He looked up sharply at a bellow of pain and a feral growl, seeing the black panther sink its teeth into the throat of one of the men in the half-circle.

A spray of blood arced out, splattering hotly against his cheek as the great cat tore the majority of the neck away, claws already reaching for another. Another two fell before they recovered enough to start trying to fight back, but the panther was fast, evading the curses and falling on them from another angle, claws and teeth ripping and shredding wherever she could reach.

Polonius groaned lowly; what was she thinking? Two changes in one night? As a novice!

Dark grey eyes widened, painted lips curving in a half smile as Persephone watched the carnage. Her human helpers fell, bleeding and dying, but she lifted not a hand to stop it, transfixed by the savage beauty of the melanistic leopard wreaking its havoc.

"My Lady," the Sculptor urged. "My Lady, please!"

"No," she breathed, holding up a pale hand to forestall him. "Let the pageant run its course."

Kushiel snarled, baring bloody teeth as the last human helper fell, the sleek fur on the back of her neck raised in spiky hackles. Stiff-legged, she backed up until she was standing only two feet in front of the Headmaster, making her message clear.

"Rafael didn't tell me about this, little artist," Persephone commented thoughtfully.

"Rafael didn't know," Polonius told her wearily, watching his student anxiously.

The slender woman walked forward, ignoring the warning growl from the feline, and stroked softly between the cat's ears, her hand coming away streaked red. "Such a majestic creature," she mused. "So many talents." She knelt down in the gore, meeting the piercing emerald eyes. "I was beyond surprised when you summoned Haddi to you, little artist, but I let him come, for I was curious."

"What is She talking about?" Kraven hissed. Clark could only shake his head mutely.

"I did not appreciate being scolded. I was already aware that I had failed Rafael. I have failed so many of them, through the years. Dear Rhys, gentle Verdandi…I failed them all. Your mercy has saved Rafael where my patronage could not, and for that, little artist, I will thank you. For interfering, however…" The woman who had once been Callia Waylen stood and smoothed her skirts, backing away and regarding the panther with sorrowful eyes. "I cannot save you from yourself."

"My Lady-"

"Not yet," she ordered sharply, and the Sculptor rocked back on his heels, a scowl twisting at his rough hewn features. "So many talents, little artist. So much potential. Will you truly waste it? When there is so much beauty within you to share, will you let it fall by the wayside unused?"

As the pale hand extended, palm up in offering, Kraven could see the calculating gleam in the black panther's eyes, judging the distance and deciding if it would be enough.

"You cannot kill me, little artist," Persephone told the feline gently. "It would be too much like killing yourself."

Ears flattening against her skull, Kushiel backed even closer to the Headmaster, her tail brushing his face and making him need to sneeze. Without warning, she coiled her muscles and sprang, not forward towards Persephone, but to the side, aiming for the Sculptor.

Without changing expression, he corrected his grip on his wand. "Crucio!"

The great cat fell writhing to the floor, snarling and hissing as unbelievable pain coursed through her veins. Dimly, she could hear shouts of dismay, but couldn't make them out, her human mind blinded by the agony of the Unforgivable. She could feel the exact moment the curse overrode her control on her form, her body shifting and changing with the pain that had not accompanied the transformations since she had first begun them. Still, the curse continued, even after she became fully human. She could hear screams, and realized vaguely that they must be coming from her.

Biting her lip, Kushiel strove through the agony to stop shrieking, to stop letting them see how much it hurt. Blood blossomed in her mouth, her previous wounds bleeding freely as they stretched open in her convulsions. She stopped screaming, though, her throat raw with it, and finally the curse lifted. Panting, she opened her eyes and glared defiantly at the stocky form of the Sculptor.

"So strong," Persephone murmured, and Kushiel shivered. "You could have been such an angel of beauty, gifting so much grace unto this dark, hopeless world. It's such a tragedy when angels deserve to die."

"My Lady."

"No, Piotr," Callia Waylen told her minion, shaking her head. "If such light must be taken out of this place, it will be by my hand. The intention is mine, therefore the guilt must be, as well." Reaching into her black lace sleeve, she drew forth a thin rosewood wand, intricately carved at the grip with roses and thorny vines. "Do you believe me when I tell you I will regret your death, little artist?"

Meeting those dark grey eyes, Kushiel nodded helplessly once. Yes, she did believe that, as frightening as it was. If she died here, Callia Waylen would remember to her own final days, thinking back on the dark, brilliant potential.

"No!" Carriegan cried, and Vin pulled her back against him at the Sculptor's frosty look.

The redhead closed her eyes and gasped for breath as an echo of the curse swept over her. She seized helplessly, every muscle and nerve in her body crying out in flares of agony. It passed in a handful of moments, leaving her prone on the floor, hands trembling finely and sweat pouring down her flushed face. Watching the women she'd spent so long studying step close beside her, she tried to find some reserve of strength, something left within her that she could use.

Persephone smiled. "Good-bye, little artist. May your next life be blessed with as much talent as this one."

Carriegan wanted desperately to close her eyes but couldn't, couldn't tear herself away from the awful circus in front of the High Table. Vindorien's arms tight about her, keeping her from moving, she watched the wand rise. "Av-"

"Avada Kedavra!" Four voices cried at once, a blinding wash of green filling the room for a heartbeat. When it passed, the students blinked to clear the spots from their eyes. They cleared to show Persephone crumpling to the floor, her dark grey eyes wide with shock. They looked up at their professors, finding Clark, Kraven, Sachiko, and Tyler pitched forward on their knees, each with one hand raised and flung towards the fallen woman.

"Oh, my gods," Carriegan whispered in awe. "Oh, sweet Nim, they did it."

His blue, blue eyes hard, the Sculptor knelt beside his lady, gaze filled with hatred. "She was going to make my art famous," he growled. "My statues would have been seen around the world."

Clark knew as surely as he knew his own name that he had nothing left. The sheer emotion that had called forth the wandless Killing Curse had left him drained and exhausted. Between that, the wards, and the earlier fighting, he doubted he had any magic left in him.

The Sculptor rose and stalked towards them, wand held tight in his fist. "You will pay," the man swore fervently. "You will die for killing my Lady."

Carriegan held her breath, swallowing the gasp that wanted desperately to emerge. The Sculptor had stepped over her friend on the floor, his entire attention focused on the Dark Hunters. "Diamonds, you are going to kill yourself, you stupid idiot!" she hissed near inaudibly.

Kushiel would have been in full agreement had she heard her Housemate. It was a struggle merely to breathe, her muscles spasming all through her body, but she rolled onto her side, pushing herself up onto hands and knees with shaking arms. Pain flared along the lines of her tattoo, joining the cacophony of agony pounding in her head, but she reached back and pulled the knife from her back, her grip slick with blood. She could feel Tyler's heavy gaze on her, concerned and anxious, but she pushed it to the side of her attention, her eyes locked on the man with his back presented to her.

Kraven swore silently and raised his head to look at the Scupltor. "I think you're forgetting something," he said casually, watching the man's eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"You're trying to distract me."

Piotr, better known as the Sculptor, gasped and looked down at the blade emerging from his chest between his third and forth ribs. Something slumped against his back, driving him down to the floor, and from the corner of his eye he saw the redheaded brat fall away. "No," he whispered. "No, I was supposed to do great things." The light in his blue eyes faded, before dying away entirely, and minion lay as dead as his mistress.

"Kush!" Tyler threw himself forward, ignoring the ranks of shadowvines phasing out of the school. Their mistress was dead; they had no reason any longer to be there. He cradled her gently in his lap, smoothing her hair away from her clammy face.

"The knife," she murmured. "Need the knife."

Kraven leaned forward and wrapped his hand around the hilt, tugging powerfully to free it from the ribcage. Finding a clean-ish corner of his robes, he wiped off the blade and handed it hilt first to the student. "Put it away now, Kushiel. We've a lot to do."

She smiled slightly and pressed the dagger flat against her back, feeling it sink back into its proper place as a construct of ink and scars. "It's done now, sir. She's gone."

"Yes, Kushiel, she's gone. Robin, we need you here. Students, get your wands, start healing each other as best you can," Clark ordered, rising to his feet. Patience found the Headmaster's wand and Excalibur, bringing them to him, and he nodded his thanks, the weights a comfort in his hands.

The double doors slammed open. Before he could even blink, Dennis Andrews, at the head of a hundred men in heavy black SWAT gear, found himself at the wrong end of a fair number of trembling wands. "What the hell-" He looked all around him, pulling off his helmet to get a better view. Dead shadowvines, grimmores, and a small number of humans lay littered about the Great Hall in pools of blood, students and faculty supporting each other to stand. "Where is She?" he demanded.

"Dead," Clark snapped. "As is the Sculptor. His victims should be changing back, you'll need emergency medics here and at Tourgique, as well as anywhere else you've found some of his statues."

Robin knelt beside Tyler, passing her wand over the heavily injured student. "Clark, we need to get her to the infirmary NOW."

"Tyler, can you take her?"

For answer, the tall redhead clutched the student tighter and stood, cradling her carefully in his arms. Kraven shot forward to help him as the girl seized again, shaking and spasming in their arms.

"Start getting the injured to the infirmary," Dennis ordered his men. "Do triage in here, get the worst in there first. I want six of you standing guard over the bodies, wands ready. Olsen, get your crew on the PFNs to command, tell them to send men and healers to the other sites. Neilson, get me a PFN connection to General Barker. I don't care if he's sleeping, I want that man's face in a flame within five minutes. Davids, MacIntyre, your squads are on body detail. Get those carcasses piled up and out of here. Pullman, take your crew to the infirmary, assist Nurse Kayenta in any way possible." The Hall become enveloped in a flurry of activity, and Dennis strode up to the High Table. "Details, Dowling."

"I'll file a report," Clark answered dryly, his eyes on the redhead as his professors carried her from the room. It would have been easier if they could levitate her, but the spell would probably set off more spasms. Just one more way the Cruciatus Curse made everything hell. "Polonius, I have a question for you."

"Go for it," the Transfigurations professor allowed, helping the still sobbing Aurelia to her feet.

"What impact is it going to have that she received the curse through her transformation?"

Professor Aberfoyle shook his head grimly, which was answer enough.

"Who are we talking about here?" Dennis asked.

"Kushiel."

"Wondergirl?" The government man's eyes narrowed. "What happened exactly?"

"I'll file a report," Clark repeated, pushing away from the supporting table to clean and sheathe Excalibur.

Carriegan and Vin leaned on each other, the golden Lhasa Apso limping along beside them. "Sir, can we head off to the infirmary?" she asked the Headmaster. "Or do you need us to stay here?"

"No, Carriegan, go be healed. SWAT will take care of what's left in here."

Clark barely heard the tiny pop, but he felt the small signature of magic, and he peered under the High Table to find a pair of large green eyes staring back at him. His fury surged again, but he kept it tightly clamped. "What are you doing here, Haddi?"

"Will Haddi be allowed to take Mistress' body?" he squeaked, wringing his hands in front of him. "Mistress should be home, she should."

"No, Haddi," he growled. "She will be going to the Hexagon, where they can make sure she's really dead."

"House elves can always tell," Haddi whimpered. "Mistress be truly dead."

"She's still going to the Hexagon."

With a tearful wail, the house elf vanished from view.

Poohbear lifted Elowen carefully over his shoulder, gingerly putting weight on his left leg to limp out to the infirmary. One of the men took the girl from him, his partner putting an arm about the young man's waist to assist him in walking.

"Why is it that they always arrive too late?" Sachiko muttered, casting a simple healing charm on Gwen's arm. She hadn't been gravely injured, she wouldn't need a space in the infirmary, which would be packed full before long.

"Because they're a government agency," Mordecai answered wryly. "Their timing is always impeccable, even if it is wrong."

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She was home.

She couldn't quite recall how she had gotten there, but as she looked around her at the spring soft green of Hallowed Haven's hills, she realized she didn't much care. She was home, and that was all that mattered.

Scrunching her toes in the grass, she felt the dew cool against the calloused bottoms of her feet, the soil sinking slightly beneath her. Blue sky gleamed brightly overhead, a bare smattering of clouds providing scant relief for the clear burning sun. She walked up the hill to the beginning of the family cemetery, her fingers trailing against the statue of Aisling when she arrived. Her hands brushed each statue and monument as she passed, a brief caress against the chilled marble.

Kushiel smiled when she saw the person waiting for her, perched tailor fashion on the edge of the quintuplet's rose pink slab, soaking in the sunshine. "Henri!"

The boy turned and gave her the sweet smile she remembered so dearly, his lavender blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Come here, sweetling," he called. "We have much to say to each other, you and I."

She ran through the rest of the cemetery, weaving through the individual graves. Laughing, she threw herself at him, hugging him tightly against the niggling sense of wrongness whispering in the back of her brain. Her fingers threaded through his hair, the thick golden brown waves he'd inherited from his mother. "I've missed you," she murmured.

"I've been here," he told her, patting the space next to him. She clambered up and leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling fifteen again. They'd often sat thus, when the weather was nice. Even Rhonwyn didn't dare join them on some days, leaving the two to their communion. "You're not supposed to be here, though."

"I know," she agreed with a slight frown. "I don't understand why they sent me home, instead of keeping me at school. I feel a lot better, though."

"Sweetling, you're not feeling anything," he informed her gently. She loved the way his words sounded just the slightest bit off, the result of being raised in French and speaking English. He'd been milk-taught both languages, but he spoke English only when he came to Hallowed Haven, and often not even then.

"What do you mean?"

"Kush, what happened three years ago?"

Her frown grew, but she obediently thought back. "That was the summer that Padraic broke my heart. You came to stay with us here for a month, because I didn't want to tell Rhon. After that, you left to apprentice with the daycare and you-" she trailed off, staring at him. "And you died," she whispered. "Henri, what's going on?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked instead, taking her hand and interlacing it with his.

Pain…shaking and gasping and trembling with pain, a low rich voice washing soothingly over her, the gentle motions of being carried. "I'm dead?"

"Not quite," he laughed softly. "But close, sweetling. Too close. You don't belong here yet."

"But I've missed you," she sighed. "And it's so nice here."

"It's all right," he shrugged. "You'd get bored, though. There's too much you've yet to do."

"I suppose I'll still be in pain when I get back."

"Probably." His thumb rubbed gently against the side of her finger. They didn't look at each other, simply sat side by side staring out at the glitter of the sun on the river some distance away. "I'll show you the way back, when you're ready."

"Why are you here?"

"Do you know the difference between a guardian and a ghost?"

She grinned crookedly, lifting her leg to rest her cheek on her knee. "I have a feeling you're about to tell me."

"I don't entirely understand it myself," he confessed, smiling at her. "I just know that every now and then, I get to check on you. I don't actually get to do anything, or make changes, but I can keep an eye on you, more or less. Now is one of those times, only I can interact with you because you're so close to death yourself."

"Why me?"

"You're still full of questions, aren't you?"

She punched him lightly in the arm, making a face at his overdone grimace. "Answer the question, Henri."

"You needed it more," he replied promptly. "My mother and father, as much as they miss me, don't need the guidance. Amos will never step foot outside of Haven, by his own choice. You, though, you need the extra eyes; your own are too big for your head, and won't let you rest until you've seen everything you can. And maybe I missed you," he added, brushing a kiss against her knuckle.

Taking a deep breath, Kushiel took in the peace of the pseudo-Hallowed Haven. The air was sweet, tangy with clover and blooming flowers. She could see her windows from here, the curtains drawn and the windows open leading out to the balcony, letting the freshness flood through her rooms. His hand was warm in hers, the skin soft and uncalloused and smelling slightly of the herbs he helped his uncle prepare during the summers away from school. "How do we get back?" she asked finally.

"You follow me," he told her with another sweet smile, sliding off the slab with her hand still caught in his. "And then we find other things for you to follow when we get to close to life for me to continue."

"Like what?"

Passing around the large manor house, they stepped onto the twisting pathway to Haven. It wasn't the one that led straight to the town, but rather, the barely broken trail winding through the ancient forest. "The sound of your friends' laughter," Henri suggested, holding a branch out of the way. "The scent of new-baked cookies from your mum. The sight of Rhonwyn growing round with child. The taste of your Nanan's hot chocolate." He looked at her slyly, laughter dancing through his wise eyes. "The feel of Tyler's heart beating beneath your cheek."

"Voyeur," she retorted, blushing in spite of herself.

"Your friends are worried about you," he continued. "Let's not keep them waiting any longer than we have to."

"You would have been totally over your head with them, Henri."

"I have absolutely no doubt of that. It's quite possibly one of the only good things about being dead."

"Henri!"

His laughter washed over her, even as the forest grew deeper and the branches began catching at her arms. She knew the way back would get harder, but at least for a time, her childhood friend, her first sweetheart, the balm of her heart after Padraic had shattered her…at least for a time, Henri was there beside her, showing her the way back.

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Carriegan and Cliona sprawled together on the narrow infirmary bed, eyes heavy with the need to sleep. Carriegan had the sneaking suspicion that Nurse Kayenta had slipped them something to aid with their slumber, but she wasn't sure if it was worth the energy to prove it. She shifted to rest her head against Cliona's stomach.

The lycan curled around her, chin on her friend's hip, watching the next bed over. Its pale occupant was still for the moment, chest rising and falling with steady breath. Taking a deep draw of air, Cliona filtered through the scents. There was still pain there and the magic level was still dangerously low; even in human form, she could always tell when potential prey was out of resources. Sighing, she squirmed slightly and settled.

Neither girl flinched when a low, rich voice washed over them, shattering the silence. "You girls should really get some sleep," Tyler told them softly.

"With all due respect, sir, so should you," Carriegan answered lazily. "But we're all worried about her, and none of us are leaving until she at least wakes up. Stop wasting your breath."

The arithmancy professor swore as the redhead in question seized again. In the three days since the attack, she had still not awoken, but Nurse Kayenta had done as much as she could do until Kushiel's innate magic began recovering. Away from the healing students, Polonius had informed them that her magic core may have been irreparably damaged with the curse chasing her back to her human form, but again, until she woke up, there was no way to tell. Reaching out, Tyler dipped a cloth in the basin of cool water by the bed and gently mopped her flushed face, smoothing her hair out of the way.

Carriegan shifted again, easing the weight on her injured hip. A damned shadowvine had clawed its way to her front from her back, and while she was grateful that it was in its non-toxic phase, it still hurt like a bitch. Nurse Kayenta had left her a pain potion before retiring for the night, but she was resisting taking it unless she absolutely had to.

Footsteps falling near silently against the floor, Callum walked across the infirmary and joined them, sinking down onto the bed and absently rubbing a hand along Cliona's back. It was his shift, though he was still charged with fetching Nurse Kayenta for any emergencies. "No change?" He asked quietly.

"Not yet, no."

Without bothering to ask permission, Callum slid his hand underneath his girlfriend's shirt, running his fingers along her side in a distinctly professional manner, checking her healing wounds. "Yours are healing well, though, Bunny," he commented, lifting her chin to examine marks across her face.

"Lucky me."

"How's Morrigan?" Carriegan asked, before Callum could say anything.

"She's fine." He smiled slightly, running a hand through his messy auburn curls. "Ginny and Remus have a very crowded bed at the moment, though. All of the children, even Lorcan, are insisting on sleeping with them."

"I can understand that." The metamorph pet her female lycan friend gently on the stomach, a gesture older than any of the girls could distinctly remember.

They all started at a moving black shadow, but luminescent eyes turned towards them disdainfully. "Hello, Bast," Cliona greeted respectfully, once her heart had regained some semblance of regularity. The cat goddess inclined her head, her jaws full of Ganymede's neck, and hopped gracefully up onto Kushiel's bed, depositing the whimpering kitten with his mistress. Maximus Jack joined them a half-second later, nuzzling up against his master's hand before coiling about his grey friend. Ganymede cried pitifully, batting at his person's motionless hand.

Tyler's lips quirked in the barest of smiles and he stroked both cats, scooting an inch or so to the side to allow the kittens to scrunch themselves between him and Kushiel as they had done so often in the loft late at night. "Thank you, Bast. I'm sure they were driving you crazy."

The black feline made a non-committal sound and hopped over to the other bed, turning three tight circles and settling down at the very edge.

"I miss Vally," Carriegan sighed, debating whether or not to move enough to stroke the cat at her feet.

"And the boys," Cliona added. "They were fun."

"Devious."

"Fun, though."

Tyler nodded in silent agreement. The Tourgique students had only been with them for a month, but their absence was keenly felt in the castle, especially with most of the Avistrum students still home for break. Matteo Sinclair had given them two days to rest and recover before taking them to their home; he wanted to be there for the students and faculty emerging from the stone prisons. The latest Portable Floo call had told them that it was too soon to tell if the victims had sustained any permanent damage; testing was being centered at both Tourgique and Saint Alçuin's Hospital. The experts had to grimly admit that there were at least a handful that would not regain their sanity once the shock wore off, but they proclaimed hope for the all the rest. He squeezed Kushiel's hand tightly, trying to pull his thoughts away from the darker track. Hope would have to do for now; it was really all they had.

The double doors opening brought the quartet's attention back around, and they relaxed when they saw the Headmaster. Carriegan quirked her eyebrows, trying to determine the last time she'd seen him so…well…_relaxed_. He was in his customary clothing, not the leathers and dark fabrics of the Dark Hunters. The long sleeves of the white dress shirt were rolled up to his elbow, the purple vest unbuttoned and loose. He had his hands tucked comfortably in his pockets and he pulled them out to rest them on the metal footboard of Kushiel's bed. "Any change?" he asked, and the rest of them shook their heads.

"What happens to Persephone now, sir?" The Colubrae asked suddenly. It had been niggling at her, and she knew Kush would want to know once she woke up.

"She remains at the Hexagon," he answered, eyeing a chair some distance away. Was it worth bringing over? "They'll lay a preservation on her body and study it for as long as they think to do so."

"Study it?" Cliona repeated, barely lifting her head to look at him. "Study it for what?"

"To see if there's any physical traits that predispose one towards Darkness, that sort of thing." He shook his head, smiling ruefully. "I've never really understood what they hope to find once the person is dead, but they all swear by it."

"This **is** the government we're talking about here," Callum muttered, and Cliona calmly elbowed him.

Clark gave up and dragged the chair over, setting it near Tyler so he could see them all. "Has Robin just given up on making the lot of you sleep?"

"Not exactly," Carriegan yawned. "She's just getting sneakier about it."

"You could just go to sleep, you know," he suggested. "Someone can wake you up if anything changes."

"Thank you, but we'll stick around as best we can," Cliona told him, fighting off her own yawn. Damn contagious things.

"Do we still have to take end of year exams?" Carriegan wondered out loud.

"Yes."

The two girls looked at the pair of professors, both of whom had spoken. "Doesn't leave us much wiggle room, does it?" The metamorph sighed.

"That was the general idea."

The two girls gradually drifted off, and Callum stood to check on the handful of other patients still remaining. The injuries had not been light, by any stretch of the imagination, but with the loan of the SWAT healers, they'd gotten most of the wounded healed and back into their normal beds. Clark leaned back in the chair, resting his feet on the nightstand, and watched his colleague tenderly sponge off the sleeping girl's clammy face. "Graduation can't come soon enough for you, can it?" he observed dryly.

"I'm a patient man," Tyler replied, not rising to the bait. "And nothing will happen till then."

"But something will happen then."

"Did you expect me to make your mistakes?" The taller man queried instead, and Clark winced. "Be happy with Robin, Clark; Kush would have destroyed you before too long, and I think you know it."

"I do now, yes." The old friends and housemates sat in silence. After a time, Clark shook his head. "She could have been killed."

"She's not out of the woods yet."

"What possessed her?"

Smiling, Tyler brushed a wisp of deep red hair back onto the plain white pillow, his fingers lingering against the curve of Kushiel's jaw. "Loyalty, I suppose. A determination to simply see it finished." He considered the subject of their discussion with thoughtful blue eyes. "Too, I guess she just needed to prove to herself that she wasn't Persephone. She had a weapon none of the rest of us could use, so she used it."

"She's got a couple of those, it seems."

"Parador's may bleat about being prepared, but it's the Colubraes who usually are; they just keep their mouths shut about it."

Snorting, the Headmaster couldn't help but agree.

The doors opened again, a small group of people walking quickly in, and as soon as he recognized the furious blonde at the head, Clark wanted nothing more than to dive under the bed and hide.

Séraphine de Navarre stopped at the bedside, hands on her hips as she scowled at the Headmaster. "After I see to my daughter," she told him in a soft, dangerous voice, "you and I are going to share a few words on why I had to hear about my daughter being near death from Persephone's house elf, n'est-ce pas?" He nodded silently.

"Love, direct your attention this way," a tall man ordered gently. Clark couldn't recall having ever seen him before, and could only guess at it being Kushiel's father.

Stepping between the two beds, the willowy blonde perched on the edge of her daughter's bed, pulling out her wand and performing her own diagnostic. The wood glowed a fitful blue, but it was steadier than the last time Robin had run the check, and Tyler took that to be a hopeful sign. "C'est l'heure, ma petite," she murmured, taking her minutes-younger child's hand and kissing it. "Tu dois te réveiller maintenant. Attends-moi, mon bijou. Réveilles-toi."

At the sound of new voices, the girls stirred awake, blinking sleepily at the arrivals. "Hello, ma'am," Cliona yawned, stretching carefully so as not to make it too awkward for Carriegan.

"Bonjour, girls. Comment ça-va?"

"We're alive," Carriegan answered with a slight smile. "We'll re-evaluate the answer towards the better once your lazy daughter graces us with her waking presence again."

Wide grey eyes danced with silent laughter as Rhonwyn came closer. "Do you mind if I sit?" she asked quietly, gesturing to the bed. Casting a quick eye to the eighteen year old's already largely rounded belly, they nodded and shifted to make more room for her. "Thank you," she sighed with relief.

Clark got to his feet and held out his hand to the grey eyed man. "Clark Dowling, Headmaster."

"Aidan O'Grady, father," he answered with understated amusement, shaking the proffered hand.

His dark brown eyes trailed to the fourth member of the party, a thin man that stood even taller than Tyler. "And you are?"

"Pierce McAllison," the young man answered, offering his own hand. "Rhon's husband."

"Oh. Right."

Rhonwyn quirked a brow at the Headmaster, an expression exactly identical to her twin's, and the girls snickered into their hands. "Maman, when you sent Haddi on to Chez des Anges, you told Nanan not to come, n'est-ce pas?"

"I told her to stay put until I sent further word to her, oui. Pourquoi?"

"Just curious, c'est tout."

"What do you mean, 'sent Haddi on'?" Clark demanded incredulously.

The look Madame de Navarre gave him was distinctly unfriendly, and he unconsciously took a step back. "He was kind enough to tell us of Kushiel's current state. I asked him if he would mind carrying a message to my mother, and he seemed grateful enough for the task, so I didn't begrudge it of him. His Mistress is dead, after all. The poor thing is rather at loose ends maintenant. I don't see as how you really-"

"Mum?"

They all held their breath and looked down at the occupant of the narrow bed. Green eyes fluttered slowly open, and Kushiel carefully focused on the blonde blur that smelled like her mother. "Oui, je suis lá, my pet. Ça va?"

"I hurt," the redhead whispered, squeezing her mother's hand.

"Hurting at least means you're alive, ma petite," Séraphine laughed softly. "You're back with us now, non?"

"Oui, je suis retournée," she murmured. "Henri était lá; he showed me the way back."

"Ton papa est ici," the blonde woman told her carefully. "Veux-tu parler avec-"

"Hello, Da," Kushiel greeted wanly, disoriented for a moment as her eyes strained to travel to another face.

Aidan stepped gingerly between the two beds and knelt down next to his younger daughter. "Would you believe that even your Grandmother is concerned, poppet?" He kissed her forehead.

"I'm sleepy, Da."

Smiling, Aidan O'Grady looked under the bed, then shuffled in a half circle to look under the one occupied by the other girls. Rising, he inspected the nightstands gravely, pulling aside the curtains from the windows and shaking them. A half-smile graced Kushiel's face as she watched him along with everyone else, and he continued on until he had looked through most of the infirmary. "Nope," he announced, coming back to stand behind his wife. "No monsters here. My girls will sleep safe tonight."

"Love you, Da."

"Love you, too, pet. Now sleep."

She turned her head, meeting Tyler's relieved gaze. "Tu es lá aussi," she noted, already drifting back into slumber. She knew it would be true slumber this time, though, and was ready to embrace it.

"I took German, meine kinde."

But she was already asleep.

Carriegan grinned and nestled against Cliona's stomach. Kushiel would be all right. It might take time, but she'd be all right. Before long the two girls joined their friend in dream land, with the professors and Kushiel's family watching over them. From Elowen's bedside, Callum smiled wistfully, perhaps remembering that day ten years ago when Ginny had finally awoken from her injuries, he and Remus waiting anxiously by her bedside. Ginny had recovered, and Kushiel would, as well. In his experience, redheads were just too damn stubborn to die.


	26. The Long Road Home

**aceDisclaimer: Don't sue me! I have no money to give you anyway!**

_A/N: Again with the puppy eyes, but I swear, I'll love you forever if you review. Oh, and just so you know, the faculty ages through this and really the entire fic are nowhere near accurate; just one of my artistic liberties. Just so you know._

_A/N2: And French class was a long time ago; I apologize for the many errors. It's not terribly important to know exactly what they're saying, which is why I haven't put up a translation._

**Chapter Twenty-Six: The Long Road Home**

"Il est très beau, oui. Combien d'âns a t-il?"

"Il a trente-deux âns, Maman."

"Ah, bien, il est plus jeun que l'autre."

"Maman, son âge n'est pas important. Est-ce qu'il t'aime?"

"Nous sommes bons amis, oui, mais je ne sais pas si l'amitié est plus grand. Je l'aime, bien sur, mais l'amour? Je ne suis pas certaine."

"Tu as de temps, ma petite," Séraphine soothed, stroking a wisp of deep red hair back behind her younger daughter's ear. "Ne t'inquiete pas."

"Do you have any idea what they're saying?" Clark murmured to Tyler, who could only shake his head bemusedly.

The formidable blonde Frenchwoman had greatly altered the simple infirmary bed, making it wide enough for her and both of her daughters to recline on. Kushiel sat in the center, head leaning against her mother's shoulder and one hand resting lightly on her twin sister's rounded stomach.

Both professors turned to Aidan O'Grady, who looked up from his book when he felt their scrutiny. "Don't look at me," he shrugged. "I've never learned French."

"So they don't do this often?"

"Oh, no, they do it all the time apparently," he answered, his attention already straying back towards his book. "I've just learned that if they don't want me to know, I won't, and it doesn't matter what language they put it in."

"Ah."

The men all returned to their earlier tasks.

Kushiel nestled in closer to her female family members, inhaling the heady scent of home. She pulled her hand away sharply as something thumped solidly against it. "Sweet Nim!"

"They are boys," Rhonwyn reminded her wearily.

"And they kick like this all the time?"

"No, but they are rather active."

The redhead reached out to the nightstand to get her glass of water, sighing when she felt her hands trembling far too much to safely hold it. "Will the tremor go away, Mum?"

"I hope so," Séraphine told her honestly. "Only time will tell, pet."

"Great."

Her sister took the glass and held it for her as she drank. "If you can't write legibly, maybe you won't have to take tests," Rhonwyn pointed out, and Kushiel snickered. She set the glass back down and regarded her twin solemnly. "Kush, Pierce and I kind of wanted to do something, but we want to make sure it's all right with you first."

"What's that?"

"Haddi vuex servir notre famille; nous pensons de lui placer avec nos fils."

Clark looked up sharply at the mention of Haddi, but he was fairly certain the switch back into French had been deliberate that time, for all that the three women often fell in and out of languages in the course of a single sentence.

Kushiel worried her lower lip thoughtfully between her teeth, green eyes dark. Haddi wanted to serve their family. It made sense, in a way. He had no family now, and it could be said that he owed Kushiel a life debt for keeping the Headmaster back in his rage. As much as she felt for the little bugger, though, she didn't want him near her all the time. But with Pierce and Rhonwyn…the notion of him being the guardian for her unborn nephews creeped her out more than a little, but she had some of the same characteristics as Persephone and had turned out all right, so perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as her pain-dulled mind was making it out to be. "Si tu le vuex," she answered finally.

"Tu es certaine?"

"Oui, je suis certaine. Il a besoin d'une famille; il peut avoir la mienne."

"Et la mienne," Rhonwyn protested, laughing. "Selfish little brat."

"Aren't youngest children supposed to be spoiled?" Kushiel asked innocently.

Séraphine rolled her eyes, a gentle smile gracing her lips "Suffit, tes deux," she ordered, voice tripping over a contained laugh.

"You know, it's really going to bother me, not knowing what they're saying," Clark muttered.

"So leave the room."

The Headmaster glowered at the other two men, who had spoken in unwitting unison. "Thanks ever so."

"Do you have to go?" Kushiel asked softly, burying her face in the crook of her mother's neck.

"Oui, poppet. There's a great deal to do if we're to ready Hallowed Haven for infants again. Your Grandmother is banished to the dowager house at the Eyrie, but the house won't be safe for children until the last of the renovations are done." The blonde smoothed her daughter's hair away from her face and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "But, it's only a month and a half till graduation, and you know we'll be here for that. And you are coming home for the summer, n'est-ce pas?"

"As if she could give any other answer with you glaring at her so, Maman!"

The redhead joined in her sister's laughter as their mother comically deepened her expression, shaking her finger at them in stern warning. "Keep it up, and it's off to your Grandmother's for both of you!"

Pulling an antique silver pocket watch from his vest, Aidan shook his head. "Sér, Rhon, if we're going to make it on time to the International Floo Center, we need to leave in just a minute."

All three women sighed.

Tyler watched from his perch atop Callum's apprentice desk as the family said their farewells. He had known in a vague sense that Kushiel was close to her mother and sister, but for the first time, she actually seemed just as reluctant to be without her father. Pierce had already returned to Hallowed Haven because of work, and it would be a long, disjointed Floo trip home through the National and International Centers, as the pregnant Rhonwyn couldn't Apparate or Portkey.

From the doorway, Remus Lupin also watched the farewells, nodding fondly to Rhonwyn when she glanced back in his direction. She didn't announce his presence; she did have a little of her sister in her, after all. She had been a good student while at Hogwarts, and he had no doubt that her Ravenclaw mind would continue running full speed despite the demands of a husband and children. His hazel eyes turned to the redhead left alone on the widened bed, processing the scents that wafted across the infirmary.

She was staring at her hands, suffused with a fine tremor that was almost unnoticeable unless one looked for it. It was the same way his wife used to look at her hands, and he shuddered inwardly. Demons were notoriously hard to kill, but much harder when they were only within yourself. He shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his robes and entered the infirmary more fully, drawing the attention of its occupants. "Headmaster, you sent for me?"

"Yes, Remus, thank you." Clark shook his shoulder length hair out of his eyes. "You've had far more experience with the Cruciatus Curse than any of the rest of us. Do you know anything we might not?"

With his customary, easy manner, the Defense professor sat down on the edge of the Colubrae student's bed and took her hand. He could feel the trembling against his skin, and there was a definite difference in temperature between his hand and hers. "Are you still seizing?" he inquired, and she shook her head.

"I seized once late yesterday afternoon, but not since then."

"What other pain or discomfort?" He smiled, because she was looking at him like he was insane. "I know, it's a stupid question, but trust me."

"My back is one massive ache from the sword, the cuts and scratches are starting to itch like crazy," she answered, one eyebrow quirked curiously. "I ache all over, actually, a steady throbbing, but I can't tell if it's because of the curse or if it's from over-stressing my Animagus form. My hands feel cold, but except for the fine shaking, I haven't actually lost any motor control, haven't lost any function. The headache comes and goes, usually depending on the last time I had a round of potions." She frowned slightly, her eyes narrowing. "And I haven't been dreaming. At all."

"That's unusual for you?"

"Very."

Drawing his wand, he considered it for a moment before turning his gaze to the student. "I would like to try a diagnostic spell, but it's a little more invasive than what they've been running on you up till now."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning it'll be brushing against your nerves, possibly your magic core, and could set off another seizure," he told her honestly. He watched the thoughts tumble behind her emerald eyes, her face not giving anything away.

"Whether I seize or not, though, you'll have learned something by it?" she asked after a time.

"I certainly hope so."

"Then go for it," she shrugged. "What's another week or three in the infirmary?"

"Kush!"

She caught Clark's indignant eye and winked saucily.

The tip of Remus' wand glowed deep blue with his incantation, and he pressed it strongly against the pulse point in the redhead's wrist. She gasped as the wave of magic washed through her, closing her eyes against the convulsive tightening of her muscles. The spasms didn't progress, though, and she took that to be a good sign, breathing deeply against the surges of pain. After what felt like an eternity of agony, he took his wand away and the pain receded. "All right?" he asked with concern.

She nodded tightly, not trusting her voice.

"At the risk of giving you false hope, I feel fairly confident that you'll be fine," he informed her in his low, hoarse voice. "Your nerves are beginning to recover, and your magic pushed me out. It's weak, but it's there, and starting to recover. The tremor may take quite a while to disappear completely, and it may never entirely go away, so some things may be a little more difficult for you, but not impossible."

"And the cold?" Clark inquired. "What about her hands being cold?"

Remus could only shrug helplessly. "My wife's hands are still cold, and she had her near death experience almost eighteen years ago now. Some things I can't even begin to explain."

"Magic is like that sometimes."

"Diamonds!" Two blurs in grey and white uniforms came sprinting through the infirmary and threw themselves at the bed, Cliona narrowly missing landing on top of the Avistrum Alpha. "We got a letter from the boys!"

"Really?" Kushiel laughed, taking her hand back from Remus and pushing herself back up against the pillows with an effort.

Cliona cast an eye at the professors. She knew Professor Ward would understand if the conversation shifted suddenly, but the others wouldn't, and well…she trusted her Head of House, and knew the other two did as well. "Athegappathegarethegentlythegy, athega cegthegertaithegin Dithegiathegadethegemathega bothegoy thitheginks thathegat Cathegarrithegiekithegins ithegis quithegite cuthegute," she reported, falling back into Gibberish. "Athegand nothegow shethege's twithegittethegered."

"Cli!"

"Whathegat athegabothegout Cúthegathegan?"

Carriegan blushed deeply, a surprising action for her. "Wethegell…" she looked at Cliona for help.

"Cúthegathegan wathegants tothego sethegettlethege dothegown," the sister of the boy in question replied. "Hethege ithegis stathegartitheging tothego lothegok fothegor athega mathegate, rathegathetheger thathegan athega githegirlfrithegend."

"Ohhhhh." Kushiel looked at Carriegan with wide eyes. "Sothego V-"

"Ssh!" She jerked her head back towards the profs.

"What? It's not like two of the three can understand you anyway."

"Still. I don't want to jinx anything by saying it out loud."

"Sothego youthegou athegand Cúthegathegan athegare…?"

"Ithegi hathegavethegen't tathegalked tothego hithegim yetheget."

"Yothegou mithegight wathegant tothego dothego thathegat sothegon, n-ethegest-cethege pathegas?"

"Oh, no fair," her Housemate groused. "French Gibberish?"

"Sorry." She didn't look very sorry, though.

Their eyes widened hugely as Carriegan suddenly let out a large, resounding belch. She smacked her lips thoughtfully. "Mmm, vintage." A moment of silence fell between them, and all three burst out laughing.

"Screw it," Clark muttered. "I'm just doomed to never understand them."

"They're female," Tyler felt obliged to point out. "How much would you have understood them anyway?"

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"There is something more than a little wrong about this," Cliona gasped, attempting to shift her neck away from the reach of Callum's mouth.

"You lost your virginity up against a dungeon corridor wall, and you're worried about making out in an infirmary office?" He suckled against her throbbing pulse and she sighed, fingers threading through his unruly curls.

"What if Kush wakes up and needs something?"

"That's why there's a bell on her nightstand." He picked her up slightly so that she sat on the edge of Nurse Kayenta's desk, holding her tightly against him and continuing to ravage her neck. "Relax."

With an effort, she tore away from him, forcing him to stand at arms' length. "Can we talk for a minute?"

"Only if that minute means I can still hold you," he quipped, but his stomach sank Cliona was ALWAYS interested in making out, and any conversation that took precedence was sure to send him spinning for something to hold onto.

"What happens after graduation?" she asked without preamble. "I'll be done with this school; you'll be done with your apprenticeship. So what happens?"

"What do you mean?"

"What happens?" she repeated stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Am I still gonna have a boyfriend after I graduate?"

"What, you think I'm just going to break it off with you because you're no longer a student?" The British apprentice tugged absently at the black leather cuffs around his wrist, an affectation the girls had forced him into back near the beginning of the school year, but which he'd found he rather liked. "Bunny, you're not making much sense."

"Callum, I'm not staying at Avistrum after I graduate," she explained, biting off a curse of frustration. She wasn't really suited to the heart to heart talks with boys; boys were too thick-headed. "What about you? Your apprenticeship will be done at the end of summer. Are you going to stay on as an assistant to Nurse Kayenta? Are you going to go on to join a practice, start your own, work at a hospital, what?" She reached out to take his fidgeting hand. "I want to know if I'm going to have you by me, or if you're going to be off somewhere else."

"I hadn't really thought about after," he admitted, swallowing hard. "I've been so caught up in you, and in my studies, that I never really gave it much consideration." His fingers came up to brush softly against her cheek, moving aside a shaggy brown almost-curl. "I don't really know what I want to do when I'm done."

"Callum-"

"Ssh, Bunny," he whispered, stepping forward to close the distance, his fingers against her lips. "Give me some time to figure it out. But for now, let it lie."

"But-"

"Bunny, please."

Sighing, she acquiesced, her hazel eyes dropping down to study the floor. "I killed the mood, didn't I?" she said a moment later.

Chuckling, Callum lifted her chin and kissed her gently. "I think we can find it again."

Kushiel rolled her eyes and turned over onto her side in the wide bed, wishing they'd remembered to close the door. Though, if Nurse Kayenta came in and saw the use they were making of her office, they would need the door open to run, so maybe it worked out.

She was thoroughly sick of the infirmary. She'd been there a little over a week, and while the tremor had reduced, it was still there, which made catching up on her written work rather difficult. Her wand was locked away who knew where, and Nurse Kayenta wasn't telling her anything about the state of her magic, which was beyond frustrating. She was far too active to be so drearily confined.

Glancing back at the open office door, she grimaced and turned away again. They would probably never notice…Her decision made, Kushiel sat up and wrapped the blanket about her, sliding off the bed and padding softly out of the hospital wing, her werewolf guards none the wiser. Other people's hormones could be a wondrous tool sometimes. She paced through the deserted halls of the school, avoiding the floating ghosts. She gave Jolly a wide berth just in case, ducking underneath the dozing Lysander. The vampire may once have been a nightwalker, but a decade of being a wall ornament had accustomed him to being awake during the day. At one point, she thought she saw Bast's golden eyes gleaming luminescently in the shadowed darkness, but when no one came running to frog-march her back to the infirmary, she decided she'd either imagined it, or the cat-goddess had her own reasons for keeping silent.

Descending down into the lower levels, she found herself in hallways she'd never seen before, despite having explored all of the school in her years, or so she'd thought. She turned a corner to find a corridor lined with aged suits of armor, their steel blotchy with faded color despite what appeared to be the excellent care of the house elves. "Why couldn't you be on the upper levels when we needed weapons?" she asked aloud. The passing thought of Tisha being alive if they'd had more swords flashed through her mind, but she shoved it viciously aside, as she always did when such things came. Tisha was dead; hindsight wouldn't change that.

The armor closest to her flapped its visor admonishingly at her, settling back into its pose against the wall, gauntleted hands resting on the hilt of his broadsword.

Kushiel started at it. "Riiiight." Shaking her head, she passed through the strange honor guard, emerging into a room that was easily the size of the Great Hall, if not actually taller. Railed balconies encircled the entire room at regular intervals, ladders leading from level to level. Nearly every spot of wall space was covered in portraits, large and small, posed and candid, ornately framed and plain old canvas stuck up on the wall.

She felt like a kid in a candy store.

Where to begin? Smiling, she turned to her left, deciding to start at the door and work her way back around. The first clump contained four portraits, one set a little aside from the other three, and she easily recognized the four Founders. How could she not, when their pictures were everywhere, guarding the dorms and the classrooms, and standing as the statues by the fountain in the courtyard?

Looking at them now, _really_ looking at them, she found herself noting things she'd never given much thought to before. Pyramis Parador had been so young! Part of her mind had always been aware of his youth; he was only 31 when he and his companions had Founded Avistrum for the American witches and wizards. He was tall even for a Scot, red-gold curls and a carefully groomed beard failing to hide the light in his eyes. Red and gold robes draped regally about him, but she could see the hint of a kilt through the belted gap and snickered. He winked at her, his phoenix flying in from beyond the wide, heavily carved gold frame. His entire countenance was jovial and good natured, belied by the claymore strapped across his back. He'd originally made the sail to the colonies to combat werewolves, and ended up teaching instead.

Well, stranger things had happened.

She moved on to Luna Lobostro, protectively stationed between the two males' portraits. Dark eyes filled with wry humor gazed out from a face sculpted with strong lines. Luna had been born into the Pamunkey Indian tribe, native to Virginia; maybe the school's location this year was something akin to coming home for her. Tan skin laid over wide cheekbones and a high-bridged nose, black hair with wide streaks of silver as crow-wings falling over her shoulder in a thick braid. From one section high on the crown of her head, a separate braid fell lightly against her cheek, ending at her waist in silver charms and red and blue feathers. Rather than robes, she wore a simple deerskin tunic in soft brown, heavily quilled and beaded, over a dark brown skirt. Luna shifted her weight in the carved, polished wood frame, and Kushiel could see the Lobostro founder had bare, dusty feet. She'd been loyal to Enigmus from the day he befriended her to the day she died. Some whispered that they'd been lovers, but Kushiel thought of Amos, and decided that some people simply couldn't fathom the idea of a male/female friendship that could be that deep without being based in something sexual.

Next to Luna, Engelbert Enigmus studied her with equal curiosity. Engelbert had been born in the fledging Jamestown, older than the other three Founders. Educated at Hogwarts as they all were, he had returned as soon as possible to his native ground, content to feel American soil beneath him all his days. The famed potions master was reputed to have been a rock of good sense and a font of wisdom, though it was time and legend that had added on the clichés, she was fairly sure. Pale skin tanned from years of gathering his own potions ingredients had given him a weathered look even older than his increased years, vivid blue eyes gazing out from amidst crows' feet. His hair had probably been dark in his youth; his eyebrows still were. The rest of his hair fell in a shaggy, unruly mass of white and silver down his back and shoulders, obscuring the embroidered designs on his otherwise simple blue robes. His frame was as simple as the rest of his appearance, thin silver polished to a scalloped roundness.

Stepping across the short distance separating them, Kushiel came to stand in front of the portrait of Caterina Colubrae, her own Founder, as far as she was concerned. History didn't treat the original Head of Colubrae very well, stating that she'd been obsessed with the purity of blood of their students, and had stalked off in a rage when Pyramis was chosen to succeed the dying Engelbert as Headmaster in 1707. Kushiel had never believed it, not when the famous guile of their house would have implemented itself in so many other ways. She had once tried to ask the Dorm Guardian Portrait, but Caterina flatly refused to speak of it. She was aware of her history, as all portraits were, even though the portrait had been painted before she left the school. Black, imperious eyes looked fondly upon this scion of her house from a beautiful, regal face. Caterina came from pure Russian blood, and it showed in her face. She was tall for a woman, and was one of those rare people with hair so blonde that it was actually white. Not a yellowed white, as if usually seen in the elderly, but a pure, soft white. It was done up in a braided crown for the portrait, dark emerald robes embracing her gracefully before falling into elegant pools of silk on the floor. "You do keep your secrets," she murmured, and the portrait merely smiled in response.

"You really do have a death wish, don't you?" a low, rich voice asked from next to her.

She flinched and lost her balance, a large hand grabbing her elbow tightly to steady her. She stared up at Tyler Ward with chagrin. "You're too big to move that silently," she protested.

"Or maybe you were just that involved," he chuckled. "Robin is going to kill you."

"Only if she finds out." She cocked her head sideways, randomly wishing he were a little shorter so she didn't have to crane her neck. "How did you know I was here?"

"Bast came to get me."

"Well, at least it was you, instead of the Nurse or the Headmaster," she sighed.

"What were you thinking so hard about?" he asked her, gesturing to the portrait.

"I was wondering why she left," she admitted, wrapping the blanket tighter about her against the cold of the dungeons. She reached out and traced one finger against the silver dragons forming a splendid ourobouros frame, their skeletal wings outstretched on either side. "She doesn't seem the type to leave out of pettiness, and she keeps too careful an eye on us to have lost faith in the school itself."

"Did you know that Caterina and Engelbert used to have tea together every day?" She grinned and shook her head, waiting for the rest of the story. "She used to do to her tea what you do to your hot chocolate, but then, so did he. Late at night, after the students had gone to bed, they would sit together with their cups of tea and discuss anything that came to mind. She left because she thought Pyramis was putting the existing students in danger with his ideas."

"Well, he was the original Parador."

Tyler laughed at the portrait-Pyramis' indignation and continued. "Remember, meine kinde, that this was a time when the muggle colonists were extremely distrustful of magic, as shown by the Salem Witch Trials. They weren't all that successful, though they did get a few, but the distrust was high. Caterina did, as history claims, want to keep enrollment limited to students from magical families, but that was actually because she feared that bringing magic to the attention of muggles would ultimately bring it to unfriendly ears, and the school would be in danger. Magic that isn't trained will never go away, but it will continue to manifest only with extremely strong emotion, and someone who doesn't believe is usually perfectly willing to either not notice or dismiss the occurrence as freak chance. She feared the Trials coming to the school."

"So why did she leave?" she whispered, processing this new information.

"Her friendship with both Pyramis and Luna was severely strained by the argument, and Engelbert was dead at that point, so she saw no reason to stay. She had faculty attached to her House who she felt could teach her students what they truly needed to know outside of class, so she left to preserve what peace remained between the three. She went back to her native Russia and lived there for the rest of her life, taking in students as they caught her interest. She continued to keep an eye on things, though, corresponding with Salem Church, the Transfigurations professor and Head of Colubrae after her departure."

The redhead regarded the portrait with awe, fighting the urge to giggle when a faint blush spread across the proud woman's cheeks. "I'll keep it a secret, I promise," she reassured Caterina, and the portrait sighed with relief.

"What are you doing down here, meine kinde?" Tyler questioned her finally. "You haven't been released from the Nurse Kayenta's tender mercies yet."

"Since when has that ever stopped the Headmaster?"

"Stop avoiding it. You're still in the infirmary for a reason, you know."

"I was going stir-crazy," she confessed. "I couldn't stand to just lie there anymore. That and the wolves were all over each other, and that's just no. Cli's my friend; I don't want to see that."

Tyler winced and shook his head ruefully "That's direct enough. How are you feeling?"

"Okay." At his sharp look, she frowned. "Seriously. I feel okay. A little tired from the walking, and a bit achy still, but no sharp pains or dizziness."

"All right." He cast a careful eye over her anyhow, scowling at her bare feet. "Kush!"

"It's not like she was expecting me to get up to leave me shoes," she pointed out reasonably. "And she still has my wand locked up."

"For good reason." He thought for a moment, then tugged at the blanket. "Here." She surrendered it to him, shivering in her thin pajamas, and he transfigured the blanket into two green fuzzy slippers. Dropping them, he balanced her by the elbow as she slid into them, then pulled his dark brown velvet dressing gown off and wrapped it around her. "It's probably warmer than that blanket anyway," he added critically.

She buried her nose in the collar and inhaled the rich scents of sandalwood and spice soap, smiling contentedly. "Have you ever seen this place before?"

"Oh, I come down here every year, usually just before graduation. Old Professor Eddings was the only other person I knew who'd ever seen it, and he used to tell me the stories of the portraits. That man was ancient. He was what, 178 when he died?"

"Jeez la!"

"Every Avistrum professor has a portrait put up in here when they leave. You're looking at over three hundred years of history here, meine kinde."

"You forget, I've been to Hogwarts."

He laughed, his voice echoing in the heavy stillness. "Come on, there's one up a few levels that you might be interested in."

"Oh really?" Allowing herself only one wistful gaze at the other portraits on the first level, she followed him up the ladders to the third story His blue eyes traveled along the frames they passed, stopping in front of one in a simple cherrywood frame. She leaned forward and read the small brass nameplate. "Shiloh Tilden, 1842-1869." Her eyes widened and she looked up at the picture.

Shiloh Tilden, whose diary she had read over Christmas, was pretty, but not beautiful. As a child, she had probably gotten heartily sick of the word 'adorable'. The young woman who'd been accidentally killed by a mob of angry house elves four years after the end of the Civil War winked back at her. Shiloh was dressed as if she'd been at one of her rich, Southern friend's parties, in a wine silk dress with beaded black fringe. The skirts were voluminous, seeming even more so with the corset accented waist. The dark red dress came daringly off her shoulders, a garnet and onyx necklace gracing her collarbone. Glossy brown curls with just a hint of auburn to them tumbled over one bare shoulder, mostly held back by pins and small braids. She had a pert face, with a button nose and sprinkling of freckles, but there was a cast to her grey-blue eyes that ensured she would never have been confused for an empty-headed arm decoration.

Kushiel glanced over at the next portrait over, and surely enough, there was her husband, Telemachus Kearny, former History of Magic professor. He was ruggedly handsome, a product of the magical Southern aristocracy, but he didn't wear its importance about it as so many other portraits from the time did. His black hair was just the slightest bit too long, as if he'd meant to trim it but forgot, one hank curling over his forehead like a comma. His warm brown eyes danced with light and laughter, and there was something decidedly impish to the cast of his mouth, despite the solemnity of his plain black teaching robes. "Spouses get portraits, too?"

"No, but ghosts do."

"Ghosts?" She looked again at Shiloh, who smiled with her secret. "But I've never seen-"

"She's not here anymore," Tyler shrugged. "After her death, she returned here as a ghost to check and make sure her family members were all right. Telemachus left not long after with their children; it was hard on them to see their mother like that. She remained for centuries. Then, in the late seventies, she suddenly disappeared. Headmaster Valenciar guessed that it was because of the success of the Civil Rights movement, in both the Negro and House Elf fronts, as the inequality and poor treatment was what led to her death, for all that she never engaged in such things."

"I didn't think ghosts _could_ move on," she murmured.

"Neither did anyone else, but she certainly seems to have done it The ghosts were just as startled as everyone else; they had no clue what had happened."

"Which means that whatever she learned to make her let go, she wasn't able to pass it along," she surmised.

"Exactly, so never bring her up in front of Lady Fey. Viola doesn't mind being dead for the most part, though she does miss chocolate a great deal, but she was rather offended by that entire experience, or so I've heard."

"You gossiping old biddy."

He gave her a highlights tour of the portraits, telling her stories about each one they stopped for. Some were amusing, some sad, some shocking, but they were all interesting. One of her favorites wasn't even that interesting a story; it was just that Gregory Kaspar, professor of Herbology from 1901 to 1938, amused himself by repeating every single word Tyler said. It seemed to be an old game between them, and they were both laughing by the end of it, Kushiel watching on with wide eyes and a wider smile.

He caught her yawn when they were up on the ninth floor, talking with the portrait of the ancient Professor Eddings. He'd been terribly old when his portrait was painted, and he was a little scattered, but if you gave him a few minutes, he would laboriously gather together all the threads to an incredibly fascinating bit of history or trivia.

"Time to get you back to the infirmary," he announced, taking her once again by the elbow.

"Please, just two more stories?" she pleaded, dreading the thought of the plain white bed and the large empty space. She had truly come to loathe it.

"Kushiel, I don't even know how much time has passed since we've been down here. Robin could be looking for you even now." He sighed when she pouted, her lower lip out just slightly, adorable in that he knew she was actually serious about it. "She is going to skin me alive for aiding and abetting," he told her, chucking her chin gently. "So roll the lip back in and let's get going."

"All right," she grumbled. She froze as his thumb gently caressed her chin, brushing against the bottom of her lip.

"I know you don't like it, but if you'd hurry up and get better, you wouldn't have to stay there," he twitted her, and she made a face. Some of the light bled from his vivid blue eyes as he studied her face, thumb tracing a thin white crescent scar just under her lip. "You nearly bit all the way through, you know." His voice was husky with sudden emotion, and she was suddenly very glad for the flickering candlelight, which afforded some vague sense of concealment.

"I could taste the blood," she said, just as softly.

"You scared me witless, meine kinde." He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms about her shoulders. Warm in his embrace and surrounded by his scent, she closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest, feeling his heart thud erratically against her cheek. "Making a second change, the curse, staring death right in the face and pulling your dagger out anyway…if it wouldn't have defeated the purpose, I would have killed you myself just for frightening me so."

"I didn't mean to," she mumbled into his silky blue pajamas.

"I know," he soothed. One hand rubbed strongly against her back, easing away the tension in her muscles. "I know."

She looked up at him, the intensity sizzling in the air sending her head swimming. He brought his face close to hers, cheek against her cheek, breathing deeply to keep his control. "Tyler…"

"I can't, Kush. You're still my student, and we're still on school grounds." He pulled away from her and smiled crookedly, the heat still scorching in his eyes. "I'd be willing to bat against one or the other, but not both."

"So another month and a half," she sighed, burying her face again.

"Another month and a half."

She thought back to Cli and Callum's conversation, and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask the same kind of question, but she decided against it. Perhaps it was simply her personal brand of cowardice, but she didn't want to question, not yet. Not when it wasn't even allowed yet to be.

He watched her closely as they made their way down the many ladders back to the ground floor of the portrait room. Her yawn entirely aside, he could see her tremor grow far more pronounced, her entire body trembling finely. When they reached the bottom level, he knelt down in front of her, back facing her.

"Huh?" she asked inelegantly.

"On my back, kinde," he ordered. "Your legs are going to give out before too long. Now come on."

With a bemused smirk, she draped her arms about his neck, coiling her legs about his waist as he carefully stood. His arms hooked under her knees, hoisting her up a little higher. She couldn't resist the need to giggle, and he bounced her again, causing her disheveled curls to fall forward over his shoulder.

He eyed the spill of deep red tresses, a much truer red than his coppery red hair. He was more often known as a carrot-top, but then again, his family descent was very Irish. "I didn't realize my hair had grown."

"You were emulating the Headmaster," she told him with a straight face. "You could always ask him for tips on styling it, I suppose. Imitation is supposed to be a form of flattery."

"Perhaps I'll cling to my disrespect," he retorted wickedly, and she snickered into his shoulder.

They made it through the hallways without incident, and though she asked him to take her back to her own dorm, he insisted on returning her to the infirmary. Outside the double doors, Bast twined about his ankles and meowed a warning, but it was too late. Before they could make a hasty retreat, one of the doors flew open to reveal a harried Robin Kayenta with a quilted amber housecoat over her nightgown. "In!" she ordered.

Meekly, escapee and returner entered. Tyler sank to his knees by the broadened bed, allowing the student to fall from his back onto the mattress. "I brought her back," he pointed out mildly.

"And she's been gone for how long?" The infirmary keeper demanded

"I have no idea." The answer was perfectly honest, in a distinctly Colubrae fashion.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Kushiel interjected, bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping Tyler's dressing gown closer about her. "I wanted to go back to my own dorm. I thought I might sleep better in my own bed."

"Kushiel, you are still here for a reason! Your magic is still dangerously low, and while you haven't had a seizure in days, you could still have a relapse if you get too exhausted! I am trying to help you, and up till now, you have been very good about it, but you cannot go sneaking out of the hospital when you're injured! What if you had collapsed? What if you had seized? What if you had passed out? Or fallen? Any number of things could have happened, and we wouldn't have found out unless someone happened to stumble across you in the morning."

Kushiel huffed sharply and the candle at her bedside flared into life.

They stared at it, the orange-yellow flame dancing merrily.

"Robin, test her magic core now," Tyler suggested, eyes still on the candle as an unlikely idea began churning in the back of his mind.

Highly confused, Robin pulled her wand from her sleeve and cast the specialized diagnostic. The light flared almost immediately, pulsing painfully bright in the dim infirmary. "It's back to normal," she announced haltingly. "How-"

"I think it was a gift from the Founders." His brows furrowed. It was possible, theoretically, but…well…he couldn't really think of anything applicable to finish the thought. "We were looking at some of the portraits. They've been known to bestow blessings before, though few and far between."

"I'm getting too old for this," the gentle woman sighed, sinking down onto the next bed. Her brown eyes regarded her patient wearily. "If, IF, your magic level is sustained over the rest of tonight and tomorrow, you can go back to your dorm tomorrow night, and to classes on Wednesday."

The redhead squealed and launched herself at the startled mediwitch, hugging the woman tightly. "Thank you!"

"Yes, well, it's an IF," Robin reminded her, gently pushing Kushiel back down into her pillows. "Get some rest." Her eyes flicked towards her lit office. "I have an apprentice to speak to about keeping a proper eye open. He came running to get me two hours ago when he noticed you missing, but that doesn't explain why you were able to go missing in the first place."

Praying that the open door allowed sound to travel IN as easily as it did OUT, Kushiel crossed her fingers within the folds of the velvet coat. "Cli was keeping him company after I fell asleep. When I woke up, it was to her tripping over Callum's desk chair. He didn't want to turn on any lights in here, so he took her in the office to make sure she hadn't hurt herself. That's when I made a run for it."

_"It's up to you now, Cliona. Or maybe Callum,"_ she thought, watching the nurse from under hooded eyes.

"Hmm…perhaps." Robin knew well enough to reserve judgment, but she would ask. "Sleep," she ordered again. She stood up and walked into her office, closing the door firmly behind her.

Grinning, the head of Enigmus stepped close to the side of the bed, crouching down to eye level. "Dream sweet, kinde," he murmured. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth, far enough not to get him in trouble. "And I expect your homework to be done for Wednesday's class."

Making a face, she watched him walk out of the infirmary, thumbs hooked over the drawstring waist of the silk pants. "That is SO wrong."

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"I'm truly beginning to hate how often I ask this, but where are the girls?"

Sachiko looked at Clark in confusion, then back to the formidable gap in the Lobostro tables where the clique of seventh year girls, with their few but hardy boys, would most likely have been sitting. "Actually, I don't know," she admitted, frowning in puzzlement. "They're not underneath it?"

"Not that I can see."

"Are they up in the rafters?"

Clark craned his head upward, wincing involuntarily as he remembered the well of ink that had once fallen on him during one of the rafter homework parties. "Not in the rafters."

"Unused classroom?"

Polonius shook his head. "They're in the kitchens."

"The kitchens?" Clark and Sachiko echoed together. The Headmaster continued. "Why the kitchens?"

"They wanted to have a private group dinner," the Transfigurations professor shrugged. "Lin gave them permission to spend the evening in the kitchens."

"They go to the trouble of asking the head house elf for help, but don't bother to let any of the professors know where they are," Clark grumbled. "Joy."

"Persephone's dead," Tyler reminded him, sawing a piece off his steak and dipping it in sauce. "It's not exactly like they're in a great deal of danger."

"Still…"

"Let it lie, Clark," Kraven sighed. "They graduate in less than a month anyway." The Head of Colubrae shook his head, stabbing his fork into his baked potato. Years of vigilant guardianship had somehow finally managed to turn to blatant paranoia within the Headmaster, and Kraven was getting highly sick of it. Any time one of the students was unaccounted for, Clark began to panic. He was actually thinking of getting up and joining the students down in the kitchen, but that he knew they were using this time to get accustomed to the thought of leaving. He didn't want to disturb that.

The group in the kitchens probably wouldn't have even noted his presence.

One advantage to making nice with the house elves in your younger years was that they tended to help you break all sorts of rules in your older years. Thus, as they finished off their splendid dinner, the table filled with all of their favorite dishes, the assembly of twelve seventh years also got to reap the benefits of the accompanying alcohol. Watching Guy dance up on the table, still occasionally taking sips from the peat whiskey sloshing dangerously close to the rim of his glass, Carriegan couldn't help but feel through her laughter that once they actually turned legal, they probably wouldn't be drinking so much.

But, hell. That was part of the fun.

She whistled loudly, clapping along with everyone else as the flushed and grinning Scotsman half fell, half clambered down off the table. "Tae friends!" he bellowed, toasting them with his glass.

"The toasted is toasting," Kushiel snickered in her Housemate's ear. "I love it."

Patience MacKendrick, a Parador seventh year, sat watching it all with wide eyes. She'd never been particularly close with the gaggle, but she'd acquitted herself well in the battle in the Great Hall, so they'd become much closer over the past three weeks. Patience had always been one of the 'good' students, never breaking the rules, barely ever bending them, but she was getting a glimpse of everything she'd been missing. She was also having a blast.

Not all was laughter, though. As the night wore on, and the alcohol slowly wore off, talk turned to other things, including the imminent sundering of the group. Oh, there would be the customary promises to write, of that they had no doubt, but still…how many of those would actually hold true? Already through the year there'd been some distances growing, the tightness of the knit spreading looser.

Cliona glanced at Callum, idly rotating her mug of Guinness. They hadn't spoken again of after graduation, not since that (rather disastrous) night in the infirmary. It niggled at her, constantly crowding in at the edge of her awareness. She _reeeeeaaaaally_ liked him. Maybe, when she was being brutally honest with herself, maybe even loved him. The lycan wasn't too sure of that; wouldn't you _know_ without question if you were truly in love with someone? What she did know, though, was that the thought of being without him was a painful, constant ache in her chest. She was scared to broach it again, scared that she would push him away by seeming to nag. Sighing, Cliona shook her head and downed the rest of her glass, a house elf instantly placing another at her elbow.

"So, how far are we all splitting anyway?" Elowen finally asked, nursing her only glass of wine. She'd learned from New Years, and did not want to repeat the experience of a potion-less hangover.

"I'll most likely be down in Lousiana," Kushiel offered, running one finger along the rim of her Johnny. "Professor Kelly has been sending me some of the finer details of an apprenticeship, and it really looks tempting."

"I'll be traveling all over," Carriegan sighed, but secretly, despite the inconvenience, she was thrilled. "I'll probably sign with the Jabberwocks rather than apprentice with my aunt."

Cliona threw a wadded up napkin at her. "You're ecstatic about signing with the Jabberwocks," she retorted. "Don't try to fool us, Carriekins. We know you too well."

The metamorphmagus grinned, her hair flashing to streaks of black, purple, and white in support of her new team. "Okay, so maybe I am."

"What about you, Cli?" Elowen inquired.

"I'm heading to the New Salem Institute of Advanced Magic, if I get my acceptance letter," the Enigmus student replied, unable to quell the urge to give her boyfriend another sidelong glance. "At the moment, I'm torn between Magizoology and Magical Librarian Certification, so I might just go for both."

"Callum?"

"I have absolutely no idea yet," he admitted, sipping his dark wine. "And you, Elo? Where are you headed?"

"Back to Georgia," she announced happily. "I hope. I should be hearing any day now from the Transfigurations Master I want to apprentice with. That and my dad really wants me to go to the muggle college at the same time, so I have options in both worlds."

"Busy."

"Yeah, I know. I'll probably end up feeling like an Enigmus, and going stark nutters like a Parador."

Aurelia stuck out her tongue amidst the laughter. "I really don't see what you all have against my house, anyway," she pouted. "We're the best!"

"Which is why you haven't won a Quidditch Cup in four years, or a House Cup in six," Carriegan pointed out with a straight face. "You're right, you are the best."

"Where are you going after this, Aurelia?" Patience asked quickly, forestalling the looming argument.

"I don't know," the blonde answered, drooping slightly in her chair. "I wanted to do a Charms apprenticeship, but the letters I got back all said they needed more Arithmancy if I expected to be able to do a respectable dissertation in charm theory. So I guess I'll head home for a bit, then figure it out. Maybe I can take some Arithmancy courses and try again."

"Guy?"

"I have obligations waiting for me back home," the Scotsman said quietly. "Those come before anything else. What about you, Patience?" He turned to look at his quiet housemate.

She smiled, brushing a black curl away from her eyes. "It's probably a waste of an education, but a friend of my mother's needs a caretaker for his property in the Loire Valley in France. The house elves will do all the actual tending, he just wants a person staying there just in case, and the terms are more than generous. So I'm off to France, to sit in someone else's house and write my stories all day."

"I think I'm jealous," Kushiel sighed. "What about you, Gwen? Going to take your theory of Merlin's prostrate problems on the road for a lecture tour?"

The brunette grinned and shook her head. "Close. I'm going on a dig in Pompeii; my uncle's friend is running it, and he's focusing on the brothels, because they seem to have the highest magical residue."

"You are such a pervert."

"And loving every minute of it."

"Raven," Cliona called across the table. "What are your plans?"

The carrot-top smiled ruefully. "I'm heading off to University of Missouri. They have both muggle and magical programs, so I can get both degrees at once. Then I'll decide."

"I'm waiting to hear back from St. Alçuin's," Elena offered softly, one hand holding Artanus' under the table. "One of the men who helped in the infirmary the night of the attack put me in contact with the head healer there. If I'm accepted, I could run an accelerated healing track and get my license in under two years with the experience I've had here at the school."

"Artanus?" Guy queried. "Sticking by the little lady?"

The Enigmus boy flushed slightly. "Weekends, hopefully. I've been accepted at MASA. I'll be doing mostly liason work with NASA at first, but I should get into the meatier stuff before too long."

"We're really going all over the place, aren't we?" Elowen sighed, setting down her half-full glass. "I'm gonna miss ya'll. I'm gonna miss bein' here."

"You'll have new things to occupy your attention, Elo," Kushiel said pragmatically. "There'll always be a soft spot, sure, but it fades with time."

"Is this our warning not to expect many letters from you?"

She threw Gwen a withering look. "Like you're rid of me that easily. Please."

Glancing at her watch, Carriegan bit off a groan. It was past time for them to be heading to bed, with reviews the next day, or rather, later that day. She stood, glass in hand, and raised it towards the center of the table. After a moment, the other eleven followed suit. "We've had seven years," she said quietly. "A lot has happened. But a lot more will happen from here on out. Wherever we go, whatever we do, just remember that it started here. To friends."

"To friends," they echoed, draining their glasses in silence.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"See? That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

Cliona reluctantly opened one eye, white knuckled hands clutching the posts on either side of her. She didn't SEEM to be falling violently to her death. She slowly opened her eyes the rest of the way, looking out rather than down. If she didn't look down, she wouldn't notice she was dangling several stories up above-oh dear…

Carriegan and Kushiel snickered, lounging comfortably some few feet on either side of Cliona. They were in one of the very few places in which the TripletS hadn't managed to have a heart to heart, but it certainly wasn't for lack of trying. The Colubraes had been working on their lycanthropic friend all seven years, but up till now she had adamantly refused. With graduation looming so closely, though, she finally gave in, and thus they were ensconced in the north goal hoops of the Quidditch Pitch, legs dangling over the distance to the ground.

It wasn't that Cliona was all that afraid of heights, it was just that she was that afraid of flying. Werewolves were born with four paws, and you certainly didn't see any birds with four legs. Therefore, in her mind, it made perfect sense that wolves were not meant to fly. Her friends had prevailed, however, and she had consented to riding behind Carriegan, her arms tightly wrapped around the other girl's waist. They'd actually had to levitate her to the hoop, because she refused to step out across the gap, but they managed.

"I talked to Cúan," Carriegan announced suddenly, and her friends turned their heads to look at her.

"Oh yeah? When did this happen?"

"Today. Professor Kobiyashi gave me permission to go during my free period. She said it was obviously more important than yet one more review session."

When she didn't say anything further, Kushiel quirked an eyebrow. "So what happened?"

"I don't know," the other girl sighed. "He got really quiet. Didn't really say anything. I was kind of expecting him to yell, or argue, or do something, but he just stood there, not looking at me, not speaking…"

"If it helps, it means he's not sure yet what he thinks of it," Cliona told her, willing her hands to relax on the metal. It was broad enough to sit on completely, she didn't need to worry about a rogue wind on an absolutely still day. Or so she kept telling herself, as her hands refused to unclench.

"I didn't tell him about the boy, because there's nothing actually there. I just said that I didn't think I was what he was looking for right now. I told him that I was going to take the Jabberwocks contract, and that I'd be traveling a lot, and leading a really hectic lifestyle, and that doesn't lend itself well to a committed relationship. I said everything I needed to say, and still, he just stood there. I finally left, because I needed to get back here for Divinations, but well…Cli, help."

Cliona just shook her head. "He'll figure it out in time, Carr. He just needs to think about it for a bit. And honestly, you're NOT what he's looking for right now. He's looking for a mate. I think I made him nervous."

"You have four older brothers, and only one of them has a mate," Kushiel pointed out, closing her eyes. "None of the rest of them are running around in circles trying to settle down right now." She leaned her head back against the side of the hoop, facing the other two.

"It's Cúan," Cliona shrugged. "He's always been like that, a little."

"And you?" Carriegan wanted to know. "Have you talked to your boy yet?"

That was a no.

Flushing, Cliona slowly shook her head, hair falling forward into her face. "It just never seems the right time to bring it up," she mumbled. Normally, she would have had to raise her voice to cover the distance, but the stillness over the pitch was so absolute that the slightest sound carried easily to each of them.

"Is it ever really the right time?"

"True."

"You need to find out, Spades," Carriegan told her friend seriously. "You don't want this kind of thing to be a surprise at the end of the summer. That would make your first term suck royally."

"I know."

"Have you talked to Ginny?"

The Enigmite glanced up at her redheaded friend. "To Ginny?"

"We've known since first off that Callum talks to her more than to Remus," she reminded her. "She won't betray his confidence, but maybe she'll still know something that will give you comfort."

"I doubt it," Cliona sighed morosely.

"Chin up, Cli. You'll figure out something. You're the smart one, remember?"

"Hey!"

Cliona just snickered.

Carriegan narrowed violet eyes consideringly. "Are you really one to talk, Kushie?"

"_Kushie_!"

"When are you going to talk to Professor Ward?"

"As soon as I don't have to call him Professor," she retorted, still stinging over the ridiculous name. "Kushie, my ass."

"Funny, sounds almost like the Headmaster."

The two Colubraes snorted appreciatively.

"I didn't think you'd actually thought about it," Carriegan admitted.

"I can't seem to do anything but think about it." Kushiel pulled a sharpie from her pocket, sketching out the TripletS logo Carriegan had designed their second year onto the inside of the hoop as she talked. Her hand still trembled finely with the tremor, but if she concentrated hard enough, she could usually keep it contained for short periods of time. "But, we'll talk about whatever we are at graduation, when it stops being quite so illegal. And, honestly, what are we? Sure, there's something there, but what if it's just because it's taboo."

"Kush, if you were interested in it just because it was taboo, you would have bonked a prof in fifth year."

"Carr!"

"She's right, you know."

"Cli!"

"Wait…I think we're about to have company."

They fell silent, watching five figures with broomsticks over their shoulders emerge from the walk to the school. "The profs?"

Cliona picked at a fingernail that was getting too long. "Are there rules against being in the hoops?"

"Would it matter if there were?"

She thought about it for a moment. "No, I don't suppose it would."

Kraven breathed in the fresh air, eyes closed in simple enjoyment. For all that he was the arbiter of all things Quidditch, he hadn't had time to simply enjoy fresh air since the finals for the Cup. Well, perhaps the hours spent on Tortesca during the attack on Tourgique could count, but he certainly didn't mark them as enjoyment. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd just gone flying, always refereeing some practice or game or other.

"Scared of heights?" Polonius twitted him, straddling his broom. "Deep breathing won't help you much there, Kraven."

"Debating about the easiest way to make your pathetic little broom wilt with fear," the Head of Colubrae retorted without opening his eyes.

"Play nice, you two," Sachiko murmured, kicking off to fly an easy lap about the south end of the pitch.

Shaking his head, Tyler joined the Charms Mistress in the air. It was almost strange not to have something drastic about to happen within the school. He flew over to hover beside the Headmaster, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. "You're it."

Kraven snorted, but swerved out of the way when Clark tried to pass it off on him. "How very childish."

Laughing, Polonius accepted the swat on the back from Clark and went after Sachiko. "Come on, Kraven, live a little!"

"Funny, I thought we gave the girls essays when they tried that line."

Sachiko Kobiyashi was a very sweet woman and it showed in the gentle lines of her face. There was one place, however, where she was decidedly UN-gentle, and that was on the Quidditch Pitch. She had been one of the most feared Beaters ever to grace an Avistrum team, and her savagery with the Bludgers had put her in good stead with both the Salem Saints and the US World Cup team in her short professional stint. That competitive edge tended to come out on the Pitch, even in friendly games of tag. She spiraled about Polonius mockingly, zipping through the south middle hoop and causing the Transfigurations professor to almost collide with it.

Carriegan snickered, lounging at ease within her own hoop. "Think anyone else would believe us?"

"Anyone we told about Karaoke night would."

"Hell, anyone would," Kushiel laughed. "We're talking about the faculty that lets their Headmaster keep Floo powder in the Holy Grail, and has a wiffle ball in equal prominence to Excalibur."

"Why do you suppose he never mounted the lingerie?"

Carriegan and Kushiel blinked, and wisely chose not to answer. There were just way too many tempting options.

They watched the professors play at tag, then chuckled through an impromptu tournament of races. Kushiel was perversely tickled to see Tyler win each flight of races.

"Nurse Kayenta should really ask the other guys to give the Headmaster remedial lessons," Carriegan observed. "He really sucks with his stick."

Oblivious to their audience, Clark produced a rather battered practice Quaffle, its once vivid crimson dulled to a washed out brick. "Think you're still up for Keeping, Polonius? Tyler?"

"Clark," Sachiko protested. "We have no Chasers here."

"So?"

"So we won't have to worry about Keeping," Tyler laughed. "You're not going to make it anywhere near the hoop."

"Willing to put money on that?"

"I am," Kraven stated immediately. He shrugged when Clark glared at him. "We were Seekers, Clark. Our job was to catch, not to throw."

"Doesn't it usually work best it one man catches what the other man throws?" Kushiel muttered, and all three girls stifled giggles to continue avoiding detection.

"I call South hoops," Polonius announced with a grin.

"Lazy." Unable to resist the urge to show off, Tyler flew backwards until he floated about ten feet in front of the north hoops. If he had turned around, or even just bothered to fly normally, he would have seen the barely hidden audience, but as it was, they remained unnoticed.

After a moment's whispered conference, it was decided that Sachiko would aim for the south hoops, Clark would aim for the north hoops, and Kraven would aim whichever way he felt like aiming. If they had been playing for points, it wouldn't have made much sense, but it was just for fun, so it didn't much matter.

"Are we in danger?"

Carriegan shook her head to Cliona's plaintive query. "There's a reason he's a swordsman and not an archer."

"He has enough trouble with one shaft, let alone twelve."

"Mrmph!"

Eyes wide, Tyler turned on his broom to face them. "What are you three-"

"Tyler!"

The tall redhead glanced back behind to see the Quaffle flying full speed towards the middle hoop. Straight towards Cliona. The seventh year Enigmite squeaked and flung both arms around one side of the goal, clinging to it with all her might as the ball came at her.

"Stupefy!"

Tyler blinked, watching the fragments of the exploded Quaffle float softly down to land on the sand. "Um…was that really necessary?" he asked mildly, eyeing the two girls with wands in their hands.

Shrugging, Kushiel slid her wand back into her boot, snapping it in place so that it didn't fall out. "It was going to hit the Llama."

"We couldn't let it hit the Llama," Carriegan agreed.

"The Llama appreciates that!"

The man couldn't help but laugh at his student's muffled voice. She was absolutely not going to let go of that goalpost. "There aren't any more Quaffles, Cliona," he told her gently. "You can sit normally."

"I know."

"Then why aren't you?"

"I'll fall!"

"You're not helping," he groused sourly, eyeing the snickering Carriegan.

"I never said I would."

"Tyler, what the hell is goi-huh!"

"Articulate, isn't he?"

Tyler nudged Kushiel with one booted toe, coming to float next to her hoop. "Be nice."

"What do I get in return?"

Clark flew up to them, hands gripping his broomstick tightly. "What's going on?"

"We were out here first," the redheaded student protested mildly.

"IN the hoops?" Sachiko queried, joining them with Kraven half a length behind. "Novel location."

"It was something new."

The professors regarded the TripletS bemusedly, and it was finally Polonius who pointed out the obvious. "Don't you have HAWKS and finals to be studying for?"

All three heaved massive sighs. "You just had to frickin remind us, didn't you?" Carriegan groaned.


	27. Blow

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Avistrum. Anything else, you're pretty much taking your chances on a guess.**

_A/N: Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease review?_

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Blow**

"Mercy turns."

Kraven looked sharply at the coffee-skinned woman leaning against the High Table, fanning herself with a sheaf of scrap parchment. There was a flustered cast about her, her dark eyes more than a little wild. "Examiner Frasier?"

She set don the parchments and flapped her copper-trimmed black robes. "Several of your students are brilliant, Bloodthorne, but I fear for the world should they become bored."

"What do you mean?" He asked lowly, heart sinking.

Jenacia Frasier, HAWKS examiner for Divinations and Arithmancy, rifled through a stack of test packets, pulling out three. She flipped to the final essay in the first. "Fumes of Mallowsweet: Incense and Ashes," she read. "Splendidly written, informative…all in all, absolutely outstanding. Then, having finished all of the essays with plenty of time to spare, the student proceeded to expound upon the divinistic properties of smoking poppy derivatives." She set it down and picked up the next, skimming to the third essay. "Sexual Energy and the Inner Eye. Tastefully explicit and far more than I ever wanted to know." Setting it down with the first, she sifted through the final selection, stopping at the first essay. "Full Moons and Crystal Balls: Indirect Lines of Sight. It connected ideas I never would have linked, and was very smug about it, too."

The Head of Colubrae winced as his palm hit his forehead rather harder than he'd intended. "I'm going to kill them," he ground out.

"What does it matter? They'll get the grade, Bloodthorne."

He gave her a pained look. "Examiner, I am judged by the caliber of my students."

"I am not giving you their names," she warned.

"You don't have to; I know my students." His black robes swirled about his ankles as he stalked out of the Great Hall, which had been redone to accommodate the examinations. The three students he sought had beaten a hasty retreat to the fountain. He found them sprawled on their cloaks on the gravel, their shoes off and feet dangling over the stone lip into the chilly water. Their eyes closed, their heads close together, the three girls soaked in the sunshine of mid-May. He stood over them, his shadow blocking the light from their faces.

One violet eye open cautiously, and Carriegan squinted up at her professor. "Can we help you, sir?"

"Sexual Energy and the Inner Eye?"

"What?"

Kushiel opened her eyes warily.

"Full Moon and Crystal Balls, Cliona?"

"Sir?"

The metamorph bit her lip.

"Divinistic properties of poppy, Kushiel?"

"Mreh?"

The werewolf gave the expression they'd long ago named 'shifty eyes'.

"Oh, don't play innocent," Kraven snapped testily,

All three girls exchanged glances, silently electing Kush as their spokesperson. She tended to have slightly better luck with the faculty. "Sir, I didn't mention poppy in any of my essays."

"You didn't." He eyed them suspiciously, arms crossed over his narrow chest.

"No, sir."

"Oath as a Colubrae?" he pressed.

The redhead quirked a brow, but held up hand that trembled from the strain of writing so much during the test. "Oath as a Colubrae."

"Cliona-"

"Does my oath as an Enigmus-"

"Enigmite."

"-count equally?" Clioan queried, casting a hard look at her classmates.

"Then you didn't-"

"I hate crystal balls, sir. Why on earth would I write about them?"

Carriegan merely shook her head when he turned to her.

He didn't, couldn't, trust them, but they took such pride in their houses that he had to rely on their oaths.

Propped up on their elbows, the TripletS watched their puzzled professor skulk back into the main building of the school. "Do you suppose we should have told him?" Cliona asked casually

The other two shared a smirk. "I'm sorry. Did you _want_ to live to graduation?"

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"You know, until she twirled her hair around her wand, she almost looked intelligent."

Sachiko didn't even have to check her aim to elbow Polonius squarely in the stomach. Lots of practice.

Oblivious to the distant scrutiny of her professors, Aurelia listened intently to the examiner, performing the complicated charms with ease. She hesitated briefly upon being asked to perform the Patronus; she'd always felt such things to be rather personal. Still, if she could get high enough scores on the exam, she might be able to find a Charms master willing to overlook her complete lack of Arithmancy. She shrugged and performed the spell, the silver-white seal swimming gracefully through the air.

Professor Kobiyashi smiled with the completion of the practicals. She would have to wait for Examiner Kozmoscky's word on the written portion, but she could see that her students had done well in the practicals. She nodded to a weary yet elated Carriegan, a slight smile curving her lips.

There were days when she wondered why she'd ever started teaching. There were times when she was so sick of grading, of lecturing, of testing, of planning. Then she came to the day of HAWKS for her subject, and she once again remembered that no other feeling in the world could compete with seeing her students excel in the knowledge she had passed on to them.

Polonius, however, was decidedly less enthusiastic for his own subject's examination. He sat in an observation balcony the school had thoughtfully provided for them, aware of his colleagues crushed into the small space with him. The normal exam was finished and had gone quite well, if one discounted Aurelia's sudden onset of nerves. They'd quickly Switched her ears back onto her head, though.

They'd dismissed the rest of the Advanced Transfigurations students, keeping behind Elowen and Kushiel. The examiners usually preferred all faculty and staff to be out of sight, hence the balcony, but they'd allowed Nurse Kayenta to remain on the ground floor with them just in case.

Elowen went first, flowing into the now familiar form of the fawn brown Fresian mare. Listening carefully to the black robed Master, she obligingly circled the hall in a walk, a trot, a canter, and a gallop. She easily cleared the small hurdles they conjured for her, standing still as Examiner Tulane ran his hands over her in a bleakly professional manner.

"Well done," he pronounced finally, applauding.

The southern belle flowed back into her human shape, anxiously glancing over at her classmate.

Polonius, and all of his colleagues, shared her fear. While Kushiel's magic seemed to be fully intact after the Founders' beneficence, she had not been given permission to attempt her animagus. Part of him had known she would be expected to present herself to the examiner, but he had worried a great deal over it.

"Miss Navarre."

Kushiel stood and dusted herself off, using the action to cover her grimace of distaste. Why was it that Americans never wanted to use other languages' titles? "Yes, sir?" she asked politely.

"We have been advised of the events of the attack," the old man told her gravely. "We are not insensitive to the rigors you endured and do not want to force you into something which may injure you further. Is this your wish to continue?"

"It is, sir," she answered calmly.

"Continue as you will, then."

She took a deep breath, unwittingly echoed by her teachers, and centered her thoughts and intent on the image of the creature that prowled in her blood. The change was queerly hesitant, both her body and her magic recalling vividly the abuses she'd accidentally put them through, but after a few moments, she stood on all fours before the examiner. As he came up with his first instruction, she rolled about on the cool stone purely for the joy of being back in the fluid power and grace of the big cat. It looked distinctly un-panther-ish, but it did rather resemble something Ganymede might do.

Examiner Tulane smiled, tucking his hands into the broad sleeves of his robes. "If we might see your paces?"

She longed to flat-out run, the melanistic leopard having been contained for far too long, but she forced herself to go through the intermediary steps. The double doors opened as he tested her reflexes with a tennis ball that reminded her rather of Cliona.

"Well done," he announced finally, hands coming together softly.

Dropping the ball at the old man's feet, Kushiel prowled over to the faculty, all of whom had joined them in relief. She passed by most of them without action, though she did twitch her tail against her Head of House's leg. She bumped Tyler's knee insistently with her broad head, regarding him with piercing emerald eyes.

Laughing, he knelt down and scritched the great cat strongly behind the ears. There were certain rules, yes, but there were always ways to bend them. Kushiel pounced forward, bringing her head butting against his chest. He fell back onto the floor. "Kush, what-"

She sprawled on top of him, head resting against his chest. Her purr was felt more than heard, a deep rumbling throbbing in his very bones. Still chuckling, he tried to gently push her off.

"Kinde!" She barely unsheathed her claws, lightly prickling his skin with the tips. As soon as his hands stopped pushing at her, the claws disappeared and she nuzzled rewardingly against his jaw.

Polonius scowled at Kraven. "And you got on my case for petting the horse's neck."

"Kushiel, get up!" Clark snapped.

She turned a baleful green gaze upon him, long tail thumping restlessly against the floor. More than a minute passed, and it became very clear that she was only moving on her own terms. Finally, she rose to her paws and sauntered out of the room.

Examiner Tulane gave the professors a wry grin. "You've really had your hands full these past seven years, haven't you?"

The Headmaster sighed. "You have no idea."

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Grabbing an apple from the bowl of fruit, Kushiel perched on the Colubrae table next to Carriegan. "So why is Elena crying?"

The other girl shrugged. "Artanus says it's just stress."

They glanced over at the Lobostro tables, where the infirmary assistant was weeping hysterically in her boyfriend's arms. The redhead bit into the Red Delicious. "But HAWKS ended at noon."

"I know."

"Whatever floats her boat, I s'pose."

For themselves, they were just glad the tests were done. There were eleven tests altogether, and only one Enigmus student had done all of them. The pair had each taken nine, spread out across all six days of testing. In another week, they would have final exams for the school, but those didn't mean much of anything outside of grades.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Carriegan asked after a while.

"Perhaps. But taking over the world with an apple core and a pair of stilettos might be a little difficult."

Carriegan blinked owlishly. Frowning, she reached up and smacked her friend upside the head. "Come on, let's go find Cli."

An hour later, the TripletS strolled into the unusually quiet Howl. They'd changed out of the uniforms, figuring it might be somewhat more appropriate. Normally on a Saturday, they wouldn't have been in them to begin with, but with the extra day of testing, they'd been obliged. They had chosen, however, not to dress with their usual clubbing flamboyance, and so they appeared in the nearly silent club at three o'clock in the afternoon clad in jeans and altered t-shirts.

Heinrich looked up from his account books, rugged face breaking into a grin. "I was hoping you girls would come by pretty soon. It's been a while."

Leaning over the bar, they gave the devious man hugs and kisses on the cheek. "It's been a rough while," Carriegan agreed, sifting her fingers through a bowl of salted peanuts.

"So I heard." He placed his fountain pen in the crease of one of the books and closed them onto each other. "Kraven and I were Housemates once upon a time; he told me some of the details that weren't in the papers. Are you girls alright?"

Their eyes traveled to Kushiel's hand trembling finely against the polished, pitted dark wood of the bar. "We'll manage," Cliona shrugged.

"What'll it be, girls?" He reached towards the underside of the bar, but they shook their heads.

"I'm still on Potions," the redhead admitted. "But if you can manage an old-fashioned Vanilla Coke with chipped ice, I'd love you forever."

"Vernors for me, please."

Cliona bit her lip indecisively. "Um…old-fashioned root beer?"

"Coming right up, ladies." With a mysterious grin, he vanished into a back room behind the bar.

Kushiel nabbed a peanut from Carriegan's bowl, popping it into her mouth and sucking on it. "Think we'll still manage to have Howl nights?" she mused idly.

"Of course. We have to have someplace to celebrate next season's Jabberwock victories."

"Optimist." Cliona didn't even wince when her friend's elbow connected with her ribs.

"It is going to be weird," Carriegan admitted. "I mean, we've been living in the same building together for seven years. We won't all be in arm's reach of each other anymore."

"We'll manage," Kushiel reminded her, stealing another peanut. "We can Floo and Apparate, as well as Portable Floo calls. You're not rid of us yet. Not by a long shot. Let's all try to stop being maudlin."

Cliona snickered at the indignant look on Heart's face. "We are getting a little sappy."

Heinrich saved Carriegan from having to answer by returning with their drinks and somewhat else. "Here." He held out three silver charm bracelets, each claiming a small charm depicting a Flaming Queen. "It's a Portkey Keeper," he explained, helping them fasten the chains about their wrists. "You can make more charms to add other places, but the one that's already on there will bring you to my office in the back. You won't have to worry about being seen, you won't have to worry about IDs, and you'll be able to make permanent, untraceable Portkeys to your other locations to get you home safely."

Carriegan blinked back the tears filling her violet eyes. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Boyo, you're incredible."

Cliona simply leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

They stayed at the bar until it started getting its regular Saturday night business, talking and laughing with the wicked barkeep. They particularly enjoyed his school-day reminiscing, and even after they'd Apparated from his office to the school gates, they continued to argue over whether or not they could safely bring up some of them before graduation.

Dark was falling when they walked through the courtyard to the large double doors. The TripletS stopped dead when they say Tyler and Kraven flanking the entranceway, uncertain whether they were about to get in trouble of not.

Kraven regarded them with barely concealed amusement. "Next time, just let us know first," he told them mildly. "And you'll want to thank Mister Argiletum when you see him."

"Thank him?" Cliona echoed. "For what, sir?"

Tyler grinned wolfishly. "When Clark discovered you three missing from campus, Mordecai played the absent-minded librarian card and claimed he'd sent you three off on an errand for him."

"Imagine that,' Kushiel noted blandly.

The Divinations professor gave the Irish lass a significant look. "Don't forget what we talked about, Tyler," he ordered, motioning to the other two girls.

Shifting her weight, Kushiel eyed the much taller redhead warily. "Please tell me this isn't the beginning of more drama," she pleaded.

He shook his head regretfully. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."

Swearing, the seventh year took a deep breath. "All right. I'll bite the bullet. What is it?"

"He hasn't made it an order, but the Headmaster has made it infinitely clear that he would _prefer_ we keep our distance during the Leaving Ball."

Her face showed none of the distress he thought (hoped?) she was feeling. Lower lip disappearing between her teeth, she worried absently at a long ringlet. She glanced up at him through thick eyelashes. "I propose this," she said suddenly. "We decide after graduation. Before the ball, with the diploma safely in hand, we can figure out whether we feel politic or not."

Smiling softly, he took the curl from her fingers and brushed it gently, caressingly, against her cheek and nose. "Kraven said you'd say that."

"You should have listened to him."

"Two weeks, meine kinde," he whispered.

Reaching for his large hand, she pressed a tender kiss into his palm, scorching through his veins like fire. It was somehow more intimate, and more unsettling, than any other kiss he'd known. "Two weeks," she agreed. Winking at him cheekily, she disappeared through the doors and left him starting after her.

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Callum was confused.

He had no problem admitting this. It kept him distracted during the days and awake all through the nights, never giving him a moment's rest. He tried to struggle through it on his own; after all, he was nearly nineteen. He needed to be sorting these things out for himself. Finally, however, he admitted defeat and went to Remus and Ginny's chambers to have a long talk with his adopted big sister/mother. He'd never really been sure what word to ascribe to their peculiar relationship.

He walked into the sitting room of the family's chambers to find Morrigan seated on the floor before the hearth, conjuring images in the flames. She was only nine, but already she displayed a strong talent for illusion and glamour, which her mother, Carriegan, and Kushiel had all encouraged through the year with gifts.

The amber eyes redhead looked up at him and smiled sweetly, a small flame nymph separating itself from the rest of the blaze to dance across the space towards him. He blushed and averted his eyes. He wasn't sure if Morri was simply copying images from illustrated mythology or if the devious little girl was actually aware of all the implications. Either way, it was much safer to just not look.

"Is your mum in?" he asked.

She shook her head, turning her attention back to the fire. "She'll return soon, though," she added. "She took Tommo and Lorcan robes shopping in Ashton."

"Ah." He sat down beside her on the floor, legs crossed tailor fashion on the colorful rug. It wasn't long before she'd transferred onto his lap, something she hadn't done with him since they'd moved to America. He smoothed her fiery red hair. "What is it, Morri?"

"Why is Miss Cliona so sad?"

He stared down as her, heart knotted in his throat. "What?"

"She's come a few times to see Mum," she confided in a loud whisper. "She was crying, too. Callum, why is she so sad?"

It took him longer than he liked to come up with a safe answer for her. "Things are changing very quickly right now, Morri," he told her softly. "And it can be very frightening."

"Are you frightened?" she interrupted.

He nodded gravely, auburn curls falling forward into his grey and blue odd eyes. "Very much so. I don't think either Cliona or I are particularly ready for all this, and we're not sure what's the best thing to do."

"Do you love her?" she asked innocently.

"What!"

"Do you love her?"

Staring down at the nine year old that was his baby sister in every way but blood, Callum had to admit to himself that yes, yes he did.

He _loved_ Cliona McCullough.

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"And here I thought with you being in Colubrae, it would be you we were waiting on."

Kushiel glanced up from her magazine at Professor Aberfoyle's grumble, quickly turning her attention back to the glossy page. "I only take that much time when it's worth it," she replied. "And the Hexagon sure as hell isn't worth it."

"What on earth is taking her so long!"

But the answer was given to them when Elowen raced down the stairs in tears, her fine brown hair frizzing out from her head in unruly wisps. "I can't get it to lay flat!" she wailed. "And they're going to take pictures!"

Politely hiding her laughter, Kushiel pulled out her wand and fixed her friend's hair with a simple charm, making it lay smoothly beneath the mother-or-pearl clip. "Forgot we were a witch, did we?"

Chagrined, the southern belle flushed. "Maybe," she answered in a small voice.

"Now that the disaster is done, can we go?" their professor asked with impatience. "We do actually have an appointment, you know."

"If you insist."

Polonius couldn't help but grin at that, ushering the pair of students out the door to walk towards the gates. He knew Kushiel didn't have much use for the government; well, not so much the government itself as the people within it. She thought the idea was a good one, but that it was indelibly compromised by the idiots attempting to execute it. With help from Kraven, he'd tried to secure a promise that she would be on her best behaviour; the best he'd managed to get without looking foolish was an oath that she wouldn't start anything.

Upon reaching the gates, they Apparated to the Hexagon's lobby. It was a tricky jump, as there wasn't much margin for error. A few feet on either side, and they'd land in some muggle's Pentagon office, and that would have required quite a bit of explanation. They walked quickly out of the landing point, because one could never tell how long one had until the next person tried to come in.

The lobby was bustling with people in officious robes, almost all of them black or dark blue. Elowen and Kushiel looked down at their plain black robes open over their gray and white school uniforms, then at their professor in vivid scarlet, and grinned.

Polonius pointed them towards a queue on the far side of the lobby, feeding through two magically enhanced x-ray machines. Instead of just picking up traces of metal, it also tested for magic and wands, to ensure that nothing dangerous entered into the Hexagon's inner offices. The three obediently took off their shoes and jewelry, placing it along with their wands in small gray buckets that passed on a conveyor belt through a machine of their own. They passed through without incident and were allowed to reclaim them, though they were told not to perform any magic unless specifically told to do so by the person they were meeting. Elowen thought that was a little silly; after all, if you don't want magic performed by visitors, why not make them check their wands and reclaim them when the visit is done?

The Head of Parador knew the way to the Registration Office very well; he was lucky enough to be able to escort someone there almost every year. Two was almost unprecedented, but he had a fairly consistent rate of success in teaching students to become Animagi. Most dreamed of it, but very few attempted it. They'd spent two hours the afternoon before filling out paperwork, which he handed to the receptionist. She took it, blowing a large bubble with her gum, and jerked her head towards a row of uncomfortable looking chairs lining one wall. "We'll call you when we're ready for you."

With a sigh, Polonius settled himself into one of the chairs, shifting unceasingly, trying to find a single spot that offered a bit of comfort. His students weren't so willing, however, and seated themselves indecorously on the floor, laying their cloaks over their laps to prevent anything inappropriate from showing.

"Have you started the History of Magic final essay yet?" Elowen inquired, plucking at an elastic bracelet around her wrist.

"Not yet. It's not long enough to have to worry about it this far in advance."

"Who are you going to do it on?"

The topic Professor Avarra had assigned them was simple, and yet was proving to give many people great difficulty. He was chagrined, to say the least. He had wanted them to have an easy time of it, turning in a non-challenging essay in place of a final exam, seeing as they had already undergone the HAWKS. The satyr had told them to write three feet on their favorite person in magical history. That was it. They could choose anyone they wanted, so long as they could write the required amount about him or her, but most people couldn't seem to think of anyone.

Kushiel smiled and fingered her legacy locket. "Henri of Navarre," she said simply. "Who else?"

"He's your favorite person in history?" Polonius asked incredulously.

"If it weren't for him, I wouldn't exist," she pointed out. "He's the father of my line, and he had a great deal of power in both the muggle and magical worlds."

"I've never really known all that much about him," Elowen admitted.

Her friend shrugged. "Why would you need to? To be honest, most of what I know of him comes from Aisling's diaries, with a little outside research."

"Tell us about him, then, Kush," Polonius suggested. "I'd be interested."

She started to demur, but then caught sight of Elowen's hopeful gaze. "All right," she laughed. "What did you want to know?"

"Everything?"

She blinked and shook her head. "How about more than nothing and less than everything?"

"That'll work, too."

Kushiel smirked and sorted through the information in her head. "Well, he started as Henri de Bourbon, prince of Navarre. After his mother's death, he became King Henri III of Navarre. He met Aisling in 1555, when she was fifteen, when he was visiting the Ministry of Magic across the channel. The Minister took him to tour Hogwarts, as France didn't have a national school at that time, and one of her classmates wrote that he was absolutely enchanted with her at first sight. Well, one doesn't refuse a king unless she has a title and a great deal of wealth to hide behind, so Aisling became his mistress, but they truly did come to feel a great deal about each other. In 1572, Henri married Marguerite de Valois, princess of France, and only survived the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre of the Huguenots because he had Apparated to visit Aisling. The marriage didn't work out so well, and after a long separation, Margot and Henri eventually had it annulled. He was then planning to marry his muggle mistress, Gabrielle d'Estrées, but she died suddenly three days before the wedding."

"Wait, how many mistresses did he have?" Elowen interrupted, fascinated.

"Oh, lord, who even knows? Magically speaking, he had two: he had a liason as a young man with a noblewoman of Navarre, the Comtess Nicolette Pourais, and then Aisling. In the magical world, he was faithful to Aisling until the day he died. In the muggle world, there really was an endless stream of them, in addition to his two wives."

"He had two wives?"

"Not at the same time, Elo."

"Oh."

Grinning, the redhead continued. She loved speaking of her forefather, not to show off that she had royal roots, but just because she found him incredibly interesting. "Aisling and Gabrielle were the two loves of Henri's life, and symbolic of the two worlds he straddled. With the death of King Henri III of France, he became Henri IV of France, the last wizard to hold a muggle throne. It wasn't an easy position to be in, but he managed it rather well. His countrymen called him le roi grand, or the great king. The previous dynasty, the Valois dynasty, had been as extravagant and wasteful as the Bourbon kings would become immediately preceding the French Revolution, but Henri was concerned about the well-being of his peasantry. One of his goals was to make sure that no person in his land was so poor that they couldn't eat a chicken at least once a week, which sounds silly to us now, but was a big deal back then. Magically, he protected muggles from his fellows, and also assured better treatment of half-bloods and muggleborns. He also helped found Beauxbatons. Another school, named l'Academie des Étoiles, was also started, for young men, but that was destroyed during the Revolution, and most families have had their boys either privately tutored or sent to Hogwarts or Durmstrang since.

"It was actually Henri that made it impossible for witches or wizards to ascend muggle thrones after his death," she went on after a moment's pause. "He stood before the International Confederation of Wizards in 1607 and spoke passionately for five and a half hours on the necessity of it. The world was changing, he said, and it was becoming increasingly important for magic and mundane to be separate. They debated for a full week, but finally decided that he was right, and the Monarchial Abstention was passed. Aisling said he was extravagantly romantic, and she often thought him more in love with the idea of love than with the woman he mantled with his affection, but his two great loves were genuine. Even after his assassination in 1610, he took care of Aisling and their children. All of his magical properties went to their children, and he had a large pension set aside specifically for her use."

"Why didn't he just give her a title?" Polonius inquired, leaning forward in the chair.

"She was Irish," Kushiel reminded him. "The French wouldn't have stood for a foreign mistress, and she was a common one, at that. Besides, Henri was very serious about keeping the two worlds separate. He also liked Aisling too much to bring her into the viper's nest that was the court. Technically, we do have a title; after the assimilation of Navarre into France with his ascension to the throne, it became a duchy, and Aisling's son became the Duc de Navarre."

"You're a duchess?" Elowen demanded incredulously.

"No, my Nanan still holds the title, and will until her death," she answered seriously. "Then it will pass to my mum, and eventually to me. It's funny, really; it was under Salic law that Henri gained the French crown, and that same law prevented Margurite de Valois from gaining her brother's throne. Yet, Henri made it possible for females of his line to inherit, and to keep the line unbroken. He really was a visionary man in a lot of ways."

"You're going to be a duchess!"

The Colubrae burst out laughing. "Elo, are you really still stuck on that? It's not that big a deal!"

"But you're nobility!"

"So?" She shrugged, that strangely Gallic gesture that could mean so very much, or so little. "It doesn't hold any power to it, anymore. It's just an extra name. Papa Lauren is a Lord, which will pass on to Da and then to Rhon. It doesn't mean anything. Besides, when it comes right down to it, we're still a bastard line, which should have prevented us from inheriting anything but that Henri declared before the Internation Confederation that we were his magical legacy, and he demanded their acknowledgement or our legitimacy."

"If the line weren't bastard, do you think the title would have meant more?"

She frowned thoughtfully at her professor's question. "Perhaps," she allowed slowly. "It's just the way we've all been raised, though. We've been raised in wealth and privilege, with the power and influence such things bring, but the title has never been made much of. Our forefather was a king, and held a throne his magical children could never inherit. What did lesser things mean? But that's not quite right, either, because we never wanted the throne. Aisling hadn't ever expected as much as she got, and she held it in stewardship for her children. The only time she ever banked upon the name and title was in making marriages for the children." She fell silent, thinking it through more carefully. "Well, look at Callum's family," she said finally. "Under normal circumstances, he would become Lord Sleipak at his father's death, because females can't inherit in his line. However, because of his lycanthropy, he was…well, not disinherited, but…disencumbered? Is that a word? Anyway, he will inherit a portion of the wealth, but he will never inherit the title. Instead, it will pass to his sister's husband if she's married at that point, or it will be held in trust until she does so."

"Nobility is confusing, isn't it?"

Kushiel nodded, smiling ruefully. "As a pureblood, let alone a noble pureblood, you're expected to memorize whole books of geneaology and know the precise hierarchy of each family. It's maddening, really."

"Another example?" Elowen asked.

"Okay, let's keep with our example of the Sleipaks." She mentally hoped Callum would forgive her for using his family so lightly; she knew he didn't really like to talk about any of them except Heidi. "We'll also add in the Snapes, the Weasleys, and the…let's say the Blacks."

"So our example includes five families?" Polonius clarified. "Convluted example, isn't it?"

"It's a convoluted question, sir. So, five families, and we'll make it an example of precedence. Now, after the expansion of the British empire, the English purebloods took precendence over the subsidiary purebloods, and subsidiary nobility was considered equal to non-noble native purebloods."

"I'm already lost," Elowen sighed, and her friend gave her a wink.

"So, of those five families, the Blacks originated in England, the Weasleys originated in England, the Sleipaks and the Snapes originated in Romania, and the de Navarres originated in Ireland and France. We're counted as both," she added as an afterthought. "Makes it more complicated that way, and depending on how wars were going, could help or hamper us in society, not that most of us have ever cared. Anyhoo. The Blacks have the highest precedence, or position, of the five, because they're English-born noble purebloods. Due to marriage lines over the centuries, because we've had our share of English spouses come into the family, the de Navarres come second, with the Sleipaks as a close third. The Snapes came over a little bit later, in the first half of the eighteenth century, but except for a few dominant strains and some distant relatives, they're almost entirely English now, because they haven't married outside the British Isles since they arrived. Then, finally, we have the Weasleys, because while they're native born pureblood, they've never married into nobility, so the inter-married foreign born purebloods rose in status to be between the native born noble purebloods and the native born non-noble purebloods."

"And you have to keep all that straight?"

"Well, yes. But that example only has five families. The current British registry of purebloods has one hundred and seventy three families, with forty-six noble families."

"Makes me really glad I'm American," Elowen muttered, and the other two laughed.

"Kushiel Navarre," the receptionist called out around another gum bubble. The redhead rolled her eyes and looked up.

"Yes?"

A man in severe black robes came to the side door and looked down at her, a sneer crossing his face. He distastefully handed her a clipboard with a pen attacked to it by a ball chain. "Fill this out, please."

"More paperwork?" she asked with surprise. After the two hours the day before, she would have thought everything they needed to be turned in already.

"Yes. We like to do this little thing called keeping records, which requires information to be filled out, which means paperwork," he told her nastily. "I doubt you have any concept of it, as your parents and teachers do it all for you."

Polonius, who had seen not only the meticulous paperwork Kushiel kept in her research on Persephone, but also seven years of class notes and research and the files for her investments, which she helped her mother oversee, braced himself for the explosion.

Kushiel, however, merely quirked an eyebrow and took the clipboard without a word, filling out the form swiftly and silently. She handed it back to him and he stalked back through the door.

The conversation started back up on post-graduation plans, with Elowen and Polonius discussing her future Transfigurations Master. Several minutes later, an intern, bright yellow trim at the shoulders of her robes, came out holding the clipboard. "Um, Miss de Navarre?"

Well, that was slightly better than Miss Navarre. "Yes?"

The intern smiled mischievously. "If I asked nicely, would you be willing to fill out the paperwork with the truth?"

"What?" Polonius took the clipboard from her and read it incredulously.

_Name: Princess Consuela Bananahammock_

_Age: 219_

_Occupation: Floo Sex Operator_

_Education: On the Job Training, hands on_

_Animagus Training Master: Grigorii Rasputin_

_Animagus form: Heffalump_

_Markings and Coloration: Rose pink, with lavender and violet markings. Stripes on hind legs, polka dots on flanks, tufted feathery tail, raccoon mask over face, with scale outlines along chest and front legs. Large ears, lined in sky blue, with one sky blue stripe down spine._

_Animagus Attributes: Especially fond of drunkards, often invisible to those who are sober. Also very fond of honey._

Polonius couldn't decide if he was more inclined to laugh or cry.

"Your supervisor didn't appreciate it?" Kushiel asked innocently.

"He was still ramming his head into the wall when he gave it back to me," the intern replied with a grin. "I liked it, though, I must admit."

"Kush…"

"He irritated me," she defended. She took the clipboard from her professor and flipped to a fresh sheet, filling it out correctly this time. She handed it back to the intern. "Thank you."

"It's worth his bad mood the rest of the day to see someone get his goat," the girl giggled.

"Kushiel," Polonius grated out pleadingly. "You said you wouldn't start anything."

"I didn't start anything," she pointed out. "He was nasty first."

"Yes, but-"

"I didn't embarrass him in public," she added. "Just in front of his colleagues and employees."

"Which is, of course…"

"Worse. Naturally."

"We'll call you in just a moment, Miss. We just have to get these into the system first."

"All right."

Elowen frowned, absently splitting the end of a hair. "Wait a minute; shouldn't you be registering with the English Ministry of Magic?"

"How you do you mean?"

"Well, don't you have to be an American citizen to have an American license?"

"Nimue, no!" Kushiel laughed. "The license itself, due to its nature, is international. But citizenship isn't at all an issue with it. I mean, you don't have to be an American citizen to get an American driver's license, after all."

"That's true."

"You don't have citizenship, Kush?" Polonius asked curiously. It made sense, in a way, but it hadn't ever crossed his mind that she wouldn't.

"Why would I?" she replied dismissively. "I already have dual citizenship, with Ireland and France. I don't need American citizenship, it doesn't gain me any advantages, and I certainly don't intend on spending the rest of my life here. So why bother with the hassle? And you're only allowed dual citizenship; I would have to give up either Ireland or France in order to take on the States, and I really just don't want to do that."

"I can see that."

"We're ready for you now, Miss."

Kushiel smiled at the intern and rose gracefully to her feet, automatically smoothing her skirt down. Her professor also rose to his feet, intending to go through the entire process with them. "Don't get into any trouble, Elowen," he warned.

"Me, sir?" she asked him innocently, and he shuddered.

The intern, whose name turned out to be Rosa, led them through the warren of offices to a white room with two men and a woman seated behind a table. A camera was mounted on a tripod behind them, and Rosa sat at the empty chair at the end of the table, ready to take notes.

The woman, who seemed to be the head of the committee, smiled and nodded to Professor Aberfoyle. "Polonius. You bring us two this year?"

"I do, Amelia. I certainly do."

"And couldn't be prouder," one of the men cackled, and good natured laughter filled the small space.

The women turned her attention to the redhead. "Do you mind if I call you Kushiel?" She requested. "The paperwork is all so formal that we like to have a tiny but of casualness about the process."

"I'd like that, ma'am, thank you." She didn't add that it meant she wouldn't have to hear anyone butcher her mode of address.

"So, just to check the paperwork…your name is Kushiel Rhiannon de Navarre, and you are eighteen years of age?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you are still a student."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Obviously, you've trained under Polonius here, and your form is a…" she frowned down at the sheet. "You have listed here both 'melanistic leopard' and 'black panther'; which is it?"

"They're actually the same thing, ma'am," she explained politely, hands clasped at the small of her back. "The technical term is melanistic leopard, as it's an off-colored leopard, sort of a reverse albinism, only more common. However, they're more commonly known as black panthers, although panthers are an entirely different family."

"Ah, I see. And your cat shares your eyes as its distinctive markings?"

"Yes, ma'am. It also has three thin scars on the right side, where the fur grew in going the opposite way."

"What happened there?"

"Shadowvine claws," she answered blandly, and Polonius thunked his head against the wall.

"Ah." The woman looked at her for a moment, then smiled, completely willing to let it lie. "All right, we'll take your picture now, in your natural state, and then in your Animagus. Smile."

Well, it came out more as a wicked smirk, but it would do. At their nods, she took a breath and flowed easily into her form, no trace of the resistance present. The camera flashed again and her tail twitched against the floor. From her corner, Rosa diligently wrote down all the pertinent details of her appearance, and one of the men stood.

"If you have sufficient control," he told her, "we need to take basic measurements."

She inclined her head regally, a very odd gesture in any cat, but especially in one so large, and he came the rest of the way towards her, wand flicking to conjure a measuring tape. He called out the numbers to Rosa, using a spell to gauge her weight, as scales tended to be rather useless when dealing with such a disparity of sizes as could occur in the Animagus Registration Office. An elephant and a butterfly couldn't exactly use the same set of scales, after all.

She changed back and waited patiently for them to finish what they needed to, signing her name to the card they put before her. A moment and several spells later, they handed her her finished license, glossy with its invincible lamination. In the upper left corner, her human self smirked at her before changing to the sleek feline, and back again. She looked at it for a moment longer and then put it away in her cleavage.

Rosa snickered.

"Kush, if you could send Elowen in? They're going to go ahead and process her paperwork while she waits here. And behave," Polonius added, not believing for a second they angelic face she gave him in response.

After Elowen went in, Kush was alone with the gum chewing and bubble blowing receptionist, who seemed to be conversing with her boyfriend via Portable Floo. She returned to her seat on the floor, back against the wall, and pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them.

Several minutes later, she became aware that she wasn't entirely alone in her little corner, and she turned her head slowly to find Haddi sitting next to her. Her first impulse was to reach for her wand, but Haddi was working for her sister now, and she needed to remember that. Rhonwyn had allowed Haddi to choose his own uniform, and he had kept to the dark grey linen toga he had worn under Persephone, though the rose brooches at his shoulders had been traded out for the O'Grady silver knot and falcon. His ears drooped as he gazed at her soulfully, rather like a puppy expecting to be kicked.

"What are you doing here, Haddi?" she asked in a bare whisper, checking to see if the receptionist had heard her.

She hadn't.

"Mistress told Haddi, go where Haddi likes when unneeded. So Haddi comes here, I does."

That sounded like Rhonwyn, though her twin would have used correct grammar. "Yes, Haddi, but are you here, with me, right now?"

"Mistress is down below," he told her sadly, and it took her a moment to realize that he meant a different Mistress. "Mistress should be home. Mistress belongs not here."

"You come to visit her body?" For some reason, that seemed far more repulsive, not to mention macabre, than visiting a grave.

He twisted one of his long ears in gnarled and clawed hands, studying her face hesitantly. "Firehair come with Haddi now?"

"I have to wait here, Haddi. They'll notice if I'm missing."

For the first time, the creature actually seemed to be enjoying itself, crooking a finger at her slyly. "House elfs magic will make you not missed. Haddi's promises."

Reason, not to mention sane impulses, was telling her not to, but she was, after all, a cat, and she couldn't resist the opportunity. "So long as you can guarantee that I won't get in trouble, sure."

He pointed at her and she felt a strange splitting, and found herself on her feet looking down at herself. She could sense nothing from the doppelganger, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully against the wall, and Haddi stood next to her, tugging at her hand. "We's not seen," he assured her. "Follow."

Bemused, she did, marveling at the manner in which he had hidden them. It was like a disillusionment charm, only they didn't even throw a shadow, which was the largest disadvantage to that charm. She had always known elf magic to be extremely powerful, but she hadn't known it could be this indirect. Guards didn't even question them, didn't notice them, as they passed down into the highest security area, the doors didn't beep as they opened, and she was willing to bet that the security cameras wouldn't notice anything either.

It was rather frightening, really. What if Persephone had been more direct, more willfully evil, and had simply ordered her house elf to slaughter all the leadership? Then again, perhaps there were standing wards against malicious intent…

He led her into a cold, sterile room which she took to be a morgue of sorts. The walls were lined with handles of drawers, too square to be used for storage. She didn't know why that was, but it was an unacknowledged truth that no drawer used for storage was allowed to be square. With precise knowledge, Haddi walked to one three quarters of the way down the wall, marked simply "Persephone" and opened it.

Kushiel cringed, expecting sirens and klaxons to be going off, but nothing happened, and she slowly walked over to the long tablet pulled out by the drawer and stood next to it.

The face of Callia Waylen was serene, preserved for all time against mortal decay and desiccation. Her grey eyes were closed, her wealth of black hair bound severely back in a braid. A plain white sheet covered her, a bracely about her wrist labeling the body further. Someone, probably Haddi, had placed a dried rose over her heart, its dusty burgundy striking against the clean white. She reached out with unthinking fingers and brushed against the petals, feeling the edges crumble slightly under the delicate touch.

"Why have you brought me here, Haddi?" she whispered, profoundly shaken.

"Mistress belongs not here," he repeated urgently. "Mistress shoulds be home. With Mistress' family. They's in the grounds, and they's waitings for her."

"You want to take her body?"

"Mistress belongs not here." He rubbed his forehead against the cold, motionless hand, and she thought of Ganymede, rubbing his head into her hand while she slept.

She still wasn't sure what to make of Persephone. She couldn't help but feel sorry for her, couldn't help but feel pity for the poor woman. What must it be like, to enter the world looking at it in a way most others found repulsive, or wrong? Despite the direct harm that had been done to herself, the girl couldn't find it in her to hate the dead woman, nor could she bring herself to feel any kind of anger. She understood it, so far as she could, farther than nearly anyone else could. If circumstances had been slightly different…well, she sort of thought it was partially her Colubrae conceit that had spared her at least some similarity. She didn't want to rule the world, she didn't want to make it a better place, she didn't want to affect all of mankind one way or another; she couldn't find any advantage for herself in such a goal. It was a callous, and rather brutal way to put it, but it was how her mind insisted on seeing it.

So, she tried to think what she would prefer if it were her, lying there lifeless on a cold slab many levels below ground. Her thoughts took her to the family graveyard at Hallowed Haven, to the even older one at Chez des Anges…and she couldn't, just couldn't, force the poor woman, dead as she was, to spend eternity in a scientific morgue, her body being poked and prodded and soaked in who knows what spells…she just couldn't. For herself, she knew as sure as she knew her own name that one day she would be buried in the graveyard at Hallowed Haven.

"Take her home, Haddi," she murmured. "But for the love of Circe, don't you dare get caught."

"Haddi takes her later," he told her soothingly. "Comes now. We's goes back."

They returned to the waiting room of the Animagus Registration Office in the same way that they'd left, completely undetected by anyone. She took the place of the doppelganger, which dissipated as soon as she touched it, and Haddi bowed deeply to her before winking out of sight. She hoped to every god she could name that he wouldn't get caught, that it wouldn't be traceable at all…she really didn't want to spend the rest of her life in Alcatraz.

She didn't think **that** well of Rafael da Lucca.

The timing proved perfect, as Elowen bounced out the side door two breaths later, Professor Aberfoyle close behind her. "Shall we then?" He asked them, offering his hand to help her up.

They left the office to head back to the Apparation point, and she couldn't even begin to prevent the evil grin that split her face when she recognized someone walking across the lobby. She didn't call out, didn't do anything to catch the person's attention, but apparently her notice was sufficient in and of itself, for the man turned, saw her, and blanched.

"What did you do?" Polonius demanded.

"I didn't do anything!" She protested indignantly. "Oath as a Colubrae! I merely noticed the man!"

To their great surprise, Dennis Andrews straightened his robes and changed direction to approach them, face set with grim determination. "You're saving me a trip, Wondergirl," he said by way of introduction.

She graced him with a sweet and utterly insincere smile. "Oh, what a shame."

"General Barker has insisted that you, the Headmaster, and Professors Kobiyashi, Bloodthorne, and Ward be given Medals of Valor for your actions at the defeat of Persephone." He watched her closely for any reaction, but she seemed entirely unimpressed. "That being said, would you prefer a public presentation at your graduation, or will you allow us to just give you the thing and not announce to the world that an eighteen year old killed the woman threatening our nation for twenty years?"

"I didn't kill Persephone," she corrected succinctly.

"You killed the Sculptor."

"And they're not the same person."

"Will you just answer the damn question, Wondergirl?" he growled.

"Keep your medal," she answered coolly.

"Kush," Polonius cautioned quietly. "Even if you don't want, or don't think you deserve it, or just don't want to receive it from him, it won't hurt your reputation to have a Medal of Valor on your record. You might want to think about that."

She looked up at her professor and saw the truth in his words, sighing. She **didn't** want the medal, but she could see his point. "Privately, then." The twinkle came back in her eyes. "Let's spare you as much embarrassment as possible, shall we?"

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

Kushiel pouted playfully at being deprived of her fun, but didn't protest when her professor grabbed her by the upper arm and literally pulled her along after him. In the space of less than two hours, she'd humiliated a supervisor, massively broken at LEAST a dozen laws, and pissed off the head of SWAT. She'd had enough fun for one day.

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"I know how devious they are," Clark said conversationally. "I know how evil they can be, how sneaky, how hellacious, but they just look so damn adorable!"

Kraven gave his colleague a look but didn't comment. They stood along with Sachiko and Tyler in front of the Colubrae tables, looking down at the…well…puppy pile. There just wasn't another way to describe it. Well, amoeba might work, but that was worse, in its way. The girls were massed together on a giant mound of pillows, limbs intertwined carelessly and using each other as pillows as often as the cotton batting ones. All nine of them were sound asleep, their faces and breathing peaceful and untroubled by nightmares and medical catastrophes.

He had to admit, though he would never EVER use the word adorable, that it made a, dare he say it, heartwarming image.

Sachiko smiled and reached up to stroke the tiny bat hanging from her decorative chopticks in her long blonde hair, content to just watch her students resting, actually resting, for the first time in who even knew how long.

"The other students will be coming in soon," Kraven pointed out. "It's almost time for dinner."

Clark glanced behind him at the windows, gauging the sunlight. "Let's tell the house elves to serve a picnic out on the grounds," he decided. "It really does seem a shame to wake them, and it's a beautiful evening."

"Let them rest," Tyler agreed softly. "After all, finals start tomorrow."

"Blow…"

Startled, the four professors looked sharply at the pile, and saw Cliona sighing, followed by several snickers.

So maybe they weren't as asleep as they seemed…

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When the students walked into their Arithmancy final, they found a single sheet of paper face down on every desk, Professor Ward sitting at his desk with a book. "Start whenever you're ready. When you're done, simply place it on my desk and go," he instructed, not even lifting his attention from the page.

Trading glances, Elowen, Kushiel, and Cliona sat down in their accustomed desks and turned the papers over, automatically writing their names and Houses in the top right corner.

Elowen's eyes widened when she saw there were only three questions. Three questions! That meant each one counted for-… "Huh?" She scratched her nose with the end of her quill upon reading the first question.

_"What is your name?"_

Shrugging, she wrote _Elowen Dondale_ next to it, despite the fact that it was scrawled across the top of the page.

Cliona grinned when she moved on to the second question. Fate had smiled on them in the form of an awesome professor.

_"What is your quest?"_

She proudly wrote _We seek the Holy Grail_ after the question mark, moving on.

Kushiel barely managed to keep back a snicker; after all, the first two had been funny enough, but…well, she had to admit, it wasn't exactly a fair final, though it was certainly humorous. After all, how many purebloods, even American ones, would be familiar with Monty Python?

_"What is the average flight velocity of a swallow?"_

Shaking her head, she fluidly wrote _African or European?_ Standing up, she took her sheet to the front at the same time at Cliona, laying it on his desk. He looked up at them, face expressionless, and slowly dropped one eyelid in a deliberate wink. They answered in kind and walked out of the classroom without a word said.

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Patience MacKendrick walked nervously into her Divinations final. It was unnerving to have to wait out in the corridor, though that was probably part of the point. Professor Bloodthorne was seeing them one by one, alphabetically, in the classroom. She'd studied herself to near insanity for this test, and yet, she had absolutely no idea what was going to be on it. He had told them that the idea of a final was to test them on the knowledge they'd accumulated over the course of seven years, not pick a few factoids at random.

When her name was called, she tried to still her shaking hands and entered the room, sitting at the chair pulled up on the student side of his broad desk. "Good afternoon, sir," she squeaked.

"Miss MacKendrick," he greeted shortly. "Are you ready?"

_"As I'll ever be,"_ she thought fleetingly, but she reluctantly nodded.

"Good." He pulled the drape off of what seemed to be a crystal ball, but was in fact just a crystal, totally devoid of the roiling fog present in its counterparts. "Tell me what grade I am going to give you for this class."

Crap!

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"It's the last day?"

"Last day."

"No more finals?"

"No more finals"

"No more papers?"

"No more papers."

"No more projects?"

"No more projects."

"No more presentations?"

"No more presentations."

"No more-"

"CLIONA!"

The Enigmite winced and looked sheepishly at her friends. "Okay, so maybe I'm a little paranoid, but I just really want to be sure that it's all done."

"It's all done," Kushiel and Carreigan assured her simultaneously.

"You know what this means, right?" Gwen asked them as they all walked into the Great Hall. The boys held the doors for them, then trailed them in.

The group shared looks and slow grins. "War!" They all cried, diving for tables to shield themselves. Startled youngers years, and not a few seventh years, stood up in surprise, knocking over food, and glitter bombs began flying across the open space, covering everything and everyone in sight with glitter of every color.

Clark sighed from the High Table, not even bothering to conjure an umbrella to shield himself. He knew from past years that it didn't do any good.


	28. Boomerang Theory

**Disclaimer: Blah blah blah, you know the routine.**

_A/N: So, here we are, end of the ride. It's been a crazy one, yeh? Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, and please leave me a last one for tradition's sake! Just because there aren't any more chapters for me to hold over you doesn't mean you can't still make Dutchy a happy panda._

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Boomerang Theory**

The commencement began with the alma mater, the graduating class and faculty mumbling along while the alumnae bellowed it out with misty eyes.

_All hail to thee, Avistrum_

_To thy beloved halls_

_To precious fonts of knowledge_

_We find within thy walls_

Cliona glanced over her shoulder at Kushiel, seated one row behind her, and shared a sardonic smile. The irony in the next section, in all its different levels, was too much for both of them, but they were behaving. Their private amusement was the only luxury they allowed themselves.

_To these our gen'rous elders_

_Who teach and keep us safe_

_To mem'ries of our dearest home_

_Of thee we'll always rave_

Aurelia bounced lightly on her heels, mouthing the words because she didn't actually know them. The ceremony was so boooooooring She just wanted it to be done, so they could get through the Feast. Once that was done, she could dress up for the ball!

_All hail to thee, Avistrum_

_Thy greatness e'er will grow_

_In all our hearts, Avistrum_

_You're the dearest home we know_

_The dearest home we know_

The song finished, everyone sat down in a great clatter and rumble of shuffling chairs.

Clark Dowling stepped up to the podium at the left edge of the platform, looking out over the assembly. The graduating seventh years sat in alphabetical order in identical black dress robes, the violet and lime tassels handing from their mortarboards. The only showing of House separation was the medals on colored ribbon about their necks. Beyond them, parents, friends, and relatives sat in brightly varied color, a sea of supportive faces. His colleagues sat behind him on the platform, facing the students and guests.

"It's been an interesting year," he began conversationally, and he could hear pockets of snickers through his audience. "This academic year has been one of great growth and loss, of shock and triumph, of progress and setback. This year has seen the highest average HAWKS score in decades." In the applause that followed, he very carefully didn't look at a certain redheaded international, knowing she wouldn't like what he was about to say. "It has also seen the demise of our bitterest foe. These struggles have reached directly into the heart of our school and affected us in ways we could never have predicted."

"So much for Divinations," Aurelia muttered, making Guy and the three people between them chuckle.

"These students," the Headmaster continued, addressing the guests now, "have lost and sacrificed a great deal, and have proven themselves more than ready to assume their places as adults. They have suffered through chaos, injury, and even the death of one of their own with heads held high. Hearts that have hurt have nonetheless kept beating.

"This year has seen some of the highest quality academic work in decades. This class has produced more Master-level apprenticeships than any other year of their residency. It has produced an unprecedented two Animagi, and exhibits an incredibly strong aptitude for high level spells." He smiled ruefully, smoothing a hand over his dark hair. "Many of our professors ended up scrambling for extra material because their students progressed faster than planned.

"For all seven years, they have been categorized into four distinct houses, yet never before have he seen such strong friendships cement themselves so broadly across all the houses." He turned his focus back to the students, who were beginning to shift with impatience. "I encourage you all, as you venture forth into your legacy, to continue to take pride and the virtues and values you learned in your Houses. Remember, however, that before you were Sorted into a House, you were part of a school; **this** school. It is a place to which you may always return, for sanctuary or reminiscence. I now congratulate, not the members of Colubrae, Enigmus, Lobostro, and Parador, but the Avistrum graduating class of 2006!"

Half-hearted cheers and applause exploded, but they were all aware that the most excruciating parts of the ceremony was yet to come. Madam Cynthis Scriba, the school secretary, stepped up to take the Headmaster's place at the podium, her black robes open to show the peacock feather lining. The faculty stood, arranging themselves alphabetically. Well, sort of. To their audience, it went from W to A, rather than A to W, but as the students stepped to their right to proceed down the line, they would start with Mister Argiletum and end with Professor Ward.

It was amazing what Carriegan would thrink through just to keep herself occupied.

"Jamie Aima," Madam Scriba called, and a Lobostro girl mounted the platform, accepting her tightly rolled diploma from the secretary and shaking hands with each member of the faculty and staff.

Sweet Nim, this was going to take forever.

Carriegan walked gracefully across the stage, receiving a fond kiss on the hand from her entirely undemonstrative Head of House and a tight embrace from the teary-eyed Charms Mistress. Her parents hadn't come, nor had she expected them to, but she could see her Auntie Ellette's face beaming in the crowd, and found she didn't really miss them.

Aurelia simply expected hugs from everyone when her name was called, and most were willing to oblige her. Then again, Kraven Bloodthorne would never fit into the category of 'most people'.

Cliona was shocked to be the recipient of a kiss on the hand from the dour Divinations professor; after all, not even being a Colubrae could guarantee you his affection. She was an honorary dragon, though, so perhaps that was it. She wasn't surprised at all when her own Head of House pulled her into a bone crushing hug, and she teetered off the platform barely able to breathe.

Kushiel's stroll across the stage for entirely uneventful for once, but she had the queerest feeling it wasn't over yet. She accepted the handshakes and hugs, as well as the kisses on the hand from Kraven and Tyler, and reclaimed her seat.

When the last student, Parador's Samuel Zubriski, returned to his seat, everyone thought they were finally done, but Headmaster Dowling gestured them back down with an apologetic wave. "Due to some of the events of the year, we have one more thing to attend to," he explained. "Will the following students please assemble here on the stair?" He read off a list and the selected victims-er, graduates, reluctantly gathered. It didn't escape their notice that all of them had been present when Persephone invaded the school. "May I introduce Dennis Andrews, coordinator and commander for the magical SWAT division."

"Are we allowed to hiss?" Carriegan whispered.

"Unfortunately, no."

"Spoilsport."

With a suspicious glance at the cluster of students, the blond agent cleared his throat and addressed the assembly. "The United States would like to honor those persons instrumental in the downfall of Persephone and Her minions," he announced with preamble.

"Oh, shit."

"As many of those persons are currently in this room, we wished to present the awards publicly so that their friends and family would be equally aware of their brave and noble deeds."

"Oh, holy shit."

"The government of the Unites States of America cannot thank them enough for their efforts."

"Oh, fucking shit."

"You keep saying that," Cliona noted, nudging her redheaded friend. "Nervous?"

"He said that it would be private," Kushiel growled. "The lying bastard."

"The first category of awards is the Medal of Distinction. The recipients of this award, due to the nature of their condition, could not be present for the battle here in the Great Hall, but they fought bravely in the forest and gave warning to those here in the school. Professor Remus Lupin."

With good-natured resignation, the Alpha trotted across the stage and suffered the medal to be pinned to his robes.

"Mrs. Ginevra Lupin."

"Joy," Callum heard his mentor mutter. Nevertheless, she pastered a fake smile on her face and accepted the honor. It was just going to gather dust in the drawer with her Order of Merlin, First Class.

"Callum Sleipak."

The apprentice showed slightly more grace than his semi-adopted parents, but even he thought it was rather silly. They really hadn't done anything."

"Cliona McCullough."

The Enigmite tripped and laughed as all four of her brothers bellowed out "Go, Bunny!" at the top of their lungs.

"Elena Waltz."

"Does this mean she's a werewolf now?" Artanus quipped, watching his girlfriend walk across the stage.

Once Elena went back to her seat, Dennis continued. "Next, we'd like to present the Medal of Valor for those who participated in the battle itself, at great risk and injury to themselves. Nurse Robin Kayenta."

Blushing, the gentle mediwitch in her black and sky blue robes allowed Andrew's assistant to pin the medal to her lapel.

"Madam Cynthis Scriba."

The cherry-faced secretary turned red and stumbled over the edge of her robes in embarrassment. The assistant grinned and discreetly steadied her.

"Mordecai Argiletum."

"Oh, my," the librarian murmured, one side of his purple bowtie sticking haphazardly from under his robes.

"Er…" Dennis blinked at the next name on the list, but forged ahead gamely. "Fineus Finbarr Fergus Flannagan Fitzgerald."

The girls whistled for their Ace and fellow mischief maker as the beaming leprechaun sauntered up to accept the medal, his diminutive statue forcing Dennis to bend nearly in half to shake his hand.

"Professor Polonius Aberfoyle."

"Andrews, you're an idiot," Polonius told him a pleasant smile, gripping the other man's hand so hard it left marks.

"My superiors gave me an order," he hissed back. "Wondergirl will get over it."

"Before or after she kills you?"

Dennis gulped, but soldiered on. "Carriegan Chantrea."

Casting a glance back at her friends, the metamorph stepped up onto the platform, silently accepting the accolade with Tisha Havern's lifeless face before her.

"Elowen Dondale."

"I can't wait for this year to be over," the Lobostro girl sighed, trudging up the stairs.

"Guy Grandison."

The gangly Scotsman made perhaps the most impressive picture of them all. Then, that could have been the grimness of his face and the gleaming hilt of Raukoris by his right ear.

"Aurelia Hepburn."

Giggling, the blond bounced up to the podium, her pigtails bouncing right along with her. She was so naively excited that some of the gravity dissipated. Most of the guests were entirely unaware of why the medals and honors were looked upon with such distaste, but the ditzy Parador's ebullience was a distinct relief.

"Patience MacKendrick."

"Oh, Lord." The curly haired brunette shook her head and followed her Housemate, clearly unhappy.

"Gwenynen Mela."

"Three Parador's in a row," she quipped dryly, watching the assistant's hands fasten the medal at her collarbone. "I think the world is coming to an end."

"Ravenesque de Mayne."

The Enigmus ginger-hair didn't really feel one way or the other about the award. Did they actually deserve them? Well, perhaps that was the sign of modesty, the thing that kept them all from being absolutely unbearable.

"Artanus Silverstaff."

Kush groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose in an attempt to ward off the coming headache. With Artanus back in his seat, she was left as the only student standing off to the side of the platform, and she should have come between the two Engimites.

"This next set of presentations," Dennis went on, turning over his cheat sheet, "is to offer the highest appreciation this country has to give. For tireless service, for great risk and injury, for ceaseless vigilance, and for brining about the end to a time of terror, we wish to present the Congressional Medal of Honor to the following people. Headmaster Clark Dowling."

There was a distinct difference in the grace with which the Dark Hunters accepted their medals. For almost two decades, they'd been lauded repeatedly, and the entirely routing had become old hat and meaningless. Dennis avoided his former subordinate's eyes, pinning the ribbon with his own hands.

"Professor Kraven Bloodthorne."

The Divination's professor's scowl was completely normal for him, and had little if anything to do with the ceremony. It was one of the advantages to being a universally acknowledged bastard.

"Deputy Headmistress Sachiko Kobiyashi."

The tiny charms Mistress solemnly accepted her medal, though Vieruss crept down from her hair and immediately rubbed her face curiously against the shiny metal. With her poor sight, the bat couldn't really see it, but any new decoration on her person had to pass her approval.

"Professor Tyler Ward."

The six foot four head of Enigmus allowed the shorter man to affix the medal to his chest. He didn't say a word, as silent as his colleagues, and resumed his position at the far end of the platform.

"This next award is rather unusual, as this honor has never before been given to a student, therefore I feel it requires a bit more explanation."

Clark winced; hadn't Dennis learned anything?

"Earlier in the year, this student was set to the task of researching Persephone, in the hopes of learning a weakness or way to defeat her. She was instrumental in the capture of Her minion the Painter, and continued to assist in the school's protection. In the battle here in the Great Hall, she was personally responsibly for the death of the Sculptor, at great injury to herself. At the age of eighteen, she has already made a huge impact on the history of our nation, and we expect to see many great things from her in the future. Kushiel de Navarre."

Amidst the thunderous applause, the young woman mounted the stairs to the platform, murder raging in her emerald eyes. She glared at him fiercely as he shakily attached the medal to her graduation robes. "Why the hell did you ever bother asking me?" she hissed.

"I thought it would be the sporting thing to do, Wondergirl," he answered, stepping back as soon as he could. "Besides, I may not be able to prove that you had anything to do with the disappearance of Persephone's body, but I know you did. Call this making it even."

"Say what?"

"I'm not asking, Wondergirl. Just take your damn medal and go."

If Kushiel hadn't been entirely absorbed in silently seething as she passed down the line of hand shaking professors, she might not have missed the light of pure mischief in a certain Yeti's blue eyes. As it was, she was entirely unprepared when the simple handshake wasn't so simple.

Tyler took her hand and pulled her sharply into him, bending her back in a fiery kiss that, after the initial gasps of shock, elicited cheers and catcalls from the assembled guests. Setting her back on her feet, he kissed her again, lingeringly, large hands cradling her face.

She looked up at him with stunned eyes, entirely speechless for perhaps the first time in her life. "Hu?"

A broad grin split his face. "So maybe I didn't feel like playing with the politics today," he shrugged.

"Right." She stared at him a moment longer, still blinking owlishly. "I'm think I'm going to go take my seat now."

"That might be good."

Once the noise had dimmed down, barely, Clark regained the podium from a flabbergasted Andrews. He knew it would be a hopeless thing to try to say anything productive at this point. "Congratulations to the Avistrum graduating class of 2006"

The cheers were tumultuous.

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"Bast! You silly creature…"

Still in her graduation robes, Kushiel followed after the fleeing feline, somewhat unsurprised to find herself at the Headmaster's office. The Leaving Feast was to start in just a few minutes, but she wanted to make some of her goodbyes first. She regarded the guardian sphinx warily. "Am I allowed in?"

The enigmatic statue stretched lazily, paws kneading against the marble plinth. "Your clearance was never changed," it told her lowly. "You will leave the school soon?"

"Yes, very soon."

"You will be missed," it said simply. The stone tail flipped open the door, and that was the end of the conversation.

Smiling, Kushiel walked into the office, catching an overexcited Renfield when the mouse miscalculated the distance for his leap. "Hey, there, boyo," she murmured, thumb stroking his brown head softly. Squeaking, the servant mouse nuzzled her pam with a cold, trembling nose.

"You're taking away all my fun, Firehair," a grating voice groused.

She grinned and looked up at Lysander. "Admit it, Bat-Boy, you'll miss me."

"That I will," he agreed, startling her. "Yo've kept things interesting around here."

"My goal in life is to save you from the tedium of being a wall ornament."

"Give me back my body?"

"Fat chance?"

The vampire sighed and scowled. "it was worth a shot."

"It was."

"Promise you'll come visit sometimes."

"Why, Lysander!" She fluttered her eyelashes mockingly, making Bast drape a paw over her nose in dignified feline laughter. "You're getting sentimental in your old age!"

"No," he countered strongly. He grinned suddenly, fangs flashing menacingly. "But I love seeing Dowling off balance, and you manage that better and more frequently than anyone else."

"Lysander!" Laughing helplessly, she leaned against the desk that had been hers, still in its spot in the corner. Renfield abandoned her hand for his customary perch atop Lysander, blowing his nose in the disgusted vampire's hair. With a trilling meow, Bast hopped up onto the desk, receiving strong rubs on the back of her neck. "I'll miss you, goddess," she stated simply, and the black cat purred and nudged her hand to continue.

"Arrrr, lass sailin' out to open seas, are ye?"

"Hello, Jolly." She gave the enchanted flag a smile of his own. "Try to behave when I'm gone, yeh? Only chase down the scabbies that deserve it."

"The scurrilous Howell?" The ship asked hopefully.

"Works for me."

"Agreed then! Arrrr, lass, remember your home port from time to time."

"Kush?"

The smile faded when she saw the confused Headmaster standing in the doorway. "Sir."

"What are you doing here?" he asked, coming in the rest of the way. "The Leaving Feast starts any minute."

"Just saying my goodbyes, sir," she answered coolly.

He hesitated briefly, and she wasn't sure if he had won or lost his private battle when he stepped even closer, stopping right in front of her. "Kitten, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I know I screwed up." She said nothing, causing him to nervously swallow and continue. "Please, is there any way…if not, could we just pretend, for your last day here, that things are as they were? Like it was in summer?"

A long silence stretched out between them. "Allow me one thing, no questions asked, and you've got your delusion," she agreed finally.

"Deal."

She smiled slightly. For all that he'd in been in Enugmus, Clark would really never learn; you **never** entered into such an unspecified arrangement with a Colubrae. She lifted on hand, caressing his jawline, and brought her lips to his. The kiss was soft and sweet. Or at least, it began that way. Stunned beyond ability to express, he moved into it, heat racing through his blood. As soon as his hand came to her hair, she stepped away, her gaze expressionless. "I just wanted to let you now what you were missing."

Without another word, she walked out, leaving him gaping in his office to the sound of Lysander chortling.

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"Ah, there you are, poppet." Séraphine gathered her younger daughter in her arms.

"Actually, ma'am, we had something to ask you," Carriegan brought up. She smoothed her violet hair. "Kush told us that all of the de Navarre women have the protective tattoos; do you have one?"

"Ah, oui, bien sûr."

"If it's not too personal-"

"Or too inappropriate."

"-may we see it?" Cliona asked, glowering at the grinning metamorphmagus.

Séraphine, looking more like Kushiel's sister than her mother in daringly cut sky blue robes, smiled and laughed. "Would it matter if it were inappropriate?" she twitted them. Shrugging out of her filmy white shawl, she brushed her upper left arm with a finger, murmuring a spell. The glamour dropped away to reveal an interwoven band of roses and barbed wire in vibrant black and red. Two carved ebony bars crossed delicately behind one of the roses, a thing line traversing carefully through the pattern to circle the arm twice. "Pulling at one of the handles releases the garrotte," she explained, tracing it for them.

"Have you ever used it?"

"Twice."

From the bleak satisfaction on her face, the girl's decided not to ask any more about it.

"Where's Aurelia?" Kush inquired, resting her chin on her sister's head. Rhonwyn reached behind her and pulled her twin's arms about her shoulders, leaning comfortably back into her.

"Dragging Aidan over here," Cliona replied with amusement.

"I have an invitation for you girls," Séraphine announced, renewing the concealment on her tattoo. "For the entire month of July, mes parents seront off on one of their trips. Je ne sais pas when all of your plans begin, mais you are **all** more than welcome to stay at Chez des Anges. It would be just the lot of you and the house elves, n'est-ce pas?"

"Woot!"

"Sweet!"

"Merci, Maman."

The tables had been returned temporarily but elongated, allowing for the huge number of guests. Technically, they were supposed to be at their specific House tables, but once Aurelia finally succeeded in bodily hauling over the reluctant Aidan, they decided it just really wasn't worth moving.

In the midst of one of those lulls that come from time to time upon a group of people entirely comfortable with each other, Aurelia leaned over and sniffed Aidan, her nostrils flaring.

"Clubs, what-"

She sniffed again, then twice more, then three more times. "I'm a werewolf!" she cried suddenly, happily sinking her teeth into his neck.

Everyone except Aidan lost themselves laughing, yet barely managed to increase the overall volume of the room. They picked at food, most uninterested in it for the anticipation of the day.

Conri McCullough II set down his glass and rummaged in his pocket. It was empty. Frowning, he checked his other pocket. No, it was empty, too. "Bevin, have you-"

His wife merely held out her hand, depositing a small brown sating bag in his palm. "You left it on the mantle," she told him, winking at her daughter. Cliona had always been more her father's daughter, but almost a full year of having a boyfriend, not to mention losing her virginity, had softened her occasionally rigid youngest child.

As the McCullough Alpha's thick fingers extracted the bag's occupants, he explained the gesture. "Your manager from the club called us, Bunny. What was his name….Heimdall? Hidalgo?"

"Heinrich?" Cliona suggested, biting back a snicker.

"Yes, that's it. Heinrich. At any rate, he called and told us about his gift to you girls, and we thought that was an awfully good idea." He finally won the battle against the tiny pouch and held out his flat hand, three small silver charms, carved into a wolf's head thrown back in an unceasing howl, resting upon his palm. "These will bring you to the basement of the Den," he informed them. "Any time you need to use it, do so, please. Carriegan, Kushiel, you are both part of our pack, and a pack shelters and protects."

"Thank you, sir," the TripletS breathed, each of them taking one of the charms.

"Good old Hein," Carriegan added, admiring the addition. "He really is watching out for us."

"I suppose this is as good a time as any," Séraphine agreed, pulling three tiny satchets from her cleavage. She handed one to each of them. "Heinrich made quite a few Floo calls, it seems. Think you can guess which will take you where?"

Carriegan examined the three silver charms that fell into her hand. One had a fleur-de-lis mounted against an endless know, the second a triskelion with tiny tiny diamonds at the corners and joints, and the third had a simple set of feathery wings. "I would guess Hallowed Haven and Chez des Anges, but I don't know which is which," she admitted. "And I don't know at all about the third."

Kushiel smiled, kissing her mother's cheek. "The fleur-de-lis is Hallowed Haven," she clarified, letting Rhonwyn attach the charms to her bracelet. "It symbolized the union of France and Ireland in Henri and Aisling. The wings will take you to Chez des Anges, the House of Angels."

"And the triskelion will take you to Mab's Eyrie," Rhonwyn added, snaking an arm out to take her husband's hand. "Though you'll want to be careful with that one; Grandmother is still lurking about, after all."

With the ensuing laughter, none of them noticed the Headmaster approaching their section of the tables. "I thought we were giving the Portkeys at the Ball," he remarked.

"We decided not to stay for the Ball," Bevin answered. "It's their last hurrah; we should let them have it to themselves."

"Oh, I don't know. I'd say they've had more than a few hurrahs in the past year to tide them over."

"Be nice," Kushiel murmured, eyes dancing. She'd definitely gotten the better end of the bargain, but she would still honor her obligation to it, such as it was.

Clark dug into his pocket and produced three more charms, by which point Aurelia was pouting at being left out. He helped Cliona affix the silver eagle. "I wasn't just bullshitting earlier when I said that this school will always be open for shelter and sanctuary. I have a feeling you three will require it far more than anyone else."

"If for nothing else that to help provide that shelter," Séraphine muttered dryly.

"Yes, well, there's virtue in that, too," another voice replied, joining the conversation. They twisted around to see Matteo Sinclair, Headmaster of Tourgique, smiling down at them. "I know that we're certainly grateful for it."

"Hello, sir," Kushiel greeted cheerfully. "What brings you here?"

"Though I'm sure it can't compare to a metal," he began, chuckling at their groans. "Tourgique had its own tokens of appreciation to deliver." He pulled a collection of miniature mounted globes from a pocket in his sleeve, setting the on the table and enlarging them to show carved gem roses floating in a sea of glittering air. "The gentlemen have trees in theirs," he told them humorously. "Apparently, Professor Boleyn felt that roses weren't masculine."

While the majority, most specifically Aurelia, were gushing over the gorgeous ornaments, Matteo knelt down by the TripletS. "Mademoiselle de Navarre, Andros Kelly tells me you accepted the apprenticeship."

"Yes, sir, I did."

"Then you will need these." He gave them small, highly detailed ships, designed for the speed of pirate galleons.

"Is this the Sea Wench?" Kushiel asked enthusiastically, adding it to the growing collection.

The gentle man laughed and nodded. "Indeed it is. Where one of you goes, the other two will inevitably follow, if even just for visits. And you are always welcome at Tourgique." His brown eyes gleamed impishly as he rose again to his feet, winking at his fellow Headmaster. "Not that we're trying to steal your loyalty, of course."

"Of course not," Cliona murmured with a grin.

"Wait, we have loyalty?"

"Carriegan!"

Fully enjoying Clark's discomfiture, Kushiel turned her attention back to Matteo. "How is everyone doing at Tourgique, sir?"

His smile grew wistful, but it remained. "We are recovering," he answered gravely. "The board of governors decided to extend classes through the summer to make up for things, and we'll have graduation just before term begins again. Your friends wanted to come today, but as I understand it, there was an Arithmancy test today."

Carriegan really wanted to pay attention to the conversation; she had a vested interest in it, after all. But, she could see her dear friend Guy staring at his place with a distinctly unsettling cast to his expression. "Duck," she ordered suddenly, and her friends obeyed without question. They slipped underneath the tables, ushering their friends and family with them.

They were just in time, too, for the gangly Scotsman, unable to resist a final fiasco, abruptly stood and launched the contents of his place across the room. A short silence met his action.

A moment later, Artanus stood and thoughtfully examined the mashed potatoes clinging the wall "Well done," he called back.

"Artanus!" Elena hissed, utterly scandalized.

Her boyfriend very deliberately picked up a spoonful of peas and launched them back to Guy, officially marking the descent into chaos.

Cliona rested her arms on the bench in front of her, chin on her forearm. She grinned at the aghast Headmaster Dowling. "Admit it, sir; you'll miss us."

"The hell I will," he muttered sourly.

Their snickering did not make him feel any better.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"They're seriously making an entrance?"

"Clark, it is their last ball at this school," Sachiko replied with some asperity. "Of course they're going to make an entrance."

Kraven's lips quirked in the barest of smiles. "They've really condensed it down to the three of them, haven't they?" he noted, watching Aurelia skip past in a swirl of true red and hot pink.

"Pragmatism," Mordecai offered. "We all pretend that we'll keep in contact after school, but I think they'll actually pull it off, and even become closer."

"How is that pragmatic?"

"They've stepped away from those they know they won't remain close to, and kept to those they will. I'd say that reflects a kind of ruthless practicality."

"Thay **are** Colubraes," Kraven reminded them proudly.

"And Cliona?" Tyler asked, eyebrows raised.

"Colubrae by association."

As the eldest of the TripletS, it fell upon Cliona to enter first. She had never become quite comfortable with the sensation of an entire room staring at her, and she had wanted to make an attempt at unobtrusiveness, but with everyone waiting for the final show, there wasn't much chance of that. Her dark brown hair had been tamed to fall in soft curls around her face, her makeup fresh and natural. Her strapless black satin gown hugged her body before flaring out in full skirts, Portkey bracelet gleaming silver at her wrist. Her heart fluttered when she saw Callum across the hall, an indefinable expression on his face.

Carriegan's eyes, upon her entrance, went equally wide, and for a very similar reason. Red painted lips parted in surprise when she saw the gaggle of grinning Tourgique students. Her strappy, silky black dress cascaded in soft whispers from high on her right hip to her left ankle. Her customary violet ringlets were held back by a simply diamond-studded headband that flashed in the light.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, taking Valerian and Vindorien's hands. "Headmaster Sinclair said that-"

"We had a test during the day," the blonde girl answered. "We got permission to come for the night."

"Luckily," Vin added, kissing Carriegan's hand. "Hello, hun."

Tyler's breath caught when the youngest of the powerful trio entered the Great Hall, for more than one reason. Her emerald eyes were darkly outlined in kohl, the shape of the lining giving her a decidedly feline cast. She followed their chosen them of basic black. A halter topped dress hugged her deck, painted along her skin to fall in closely to her ankles, a high slit running the entire length of her right leg. Her back was entire bare, her tattoo blazing. What shocked him, though, and all of his colleagues, was her unusual choice of accessory. Her blood red hair was piled in a mass of curls held by thin braids and charms, but pinned in striking disparity was an ivory dried rose.

She drew up to them and he took her hand, kissing the pulse fluttering at her wrist. "Dried roses, kinde?"

"Paying a debt," she answered obliquely.

And yet, he understood in a way. Kushiel had understood Callia Waylen better than anyone else, for better or worse, and was the only one who could appreciate the positive aspects of her obsession. He wouldn't have called it a debt, but then again, he wasn't a Colubrae. He brushed a lone curl from her cheek. "Shall we dance?"

"Yes, let's."

Kraven glanced at Clark as the pair walked onto the dance floor. His companion scowled slightly. "After the display at the awards ceremony, do you really think that a few dances are going to matter?"

"I'm proud of you, Dowling," Kraven told him with a straight face. "You're finally learning."

"There are days when I hate you."

"And they're the happiest days of my life."

Cliona was a little surprised when Remus stole her from Callum, twirling her gracefully about the central area. "Glad to be rid of us, sir?" she asked teasingly.

"Oh, I'm hardly rid of you, Cli," he chuckled. "I just thought it would be nice of you to give an old man a dance."

"Old man?" she repeated incredulously. "Since when did you become old?"

"When did I marry Ginny? Ten years ago?"

She laughed heartily and he gave her a wink. "You're terrible."

"I know," he admitted shamelessly. "However, I have to confess, I do have an ulterior motive."

"And what's that?"

Great Hera, he was enjoying this! "I was sent to distract you."

"From what?"

"From that." He pointed over her shoulder and she stopped dancing to look.

A white origami wolf raced across the air over the dance floor. Reflexively, she held out her hand when it got close. Tail wagging, it sat back on its haunches on her palm, jaws tightly gripping something.

"What have you got there, pack brother?" she murmured. She carefully stroked his paper brow and it nuzzled against her finger, dropping the silver and sapphire ring into her hand. "What the-" She turned to demand an explanation from Remus but found Callum there instead, the professor sauntering off with his hands in the pockets of his dress robes.

"It's not a proposal, Bunny," he told her solemnly, grey and blue odd eyes anxious. "But it is a promise. Where you go, I go."

"You mean-?"

"I got accepted to the Advanced Healing program at the New Salem Institute of Advanced Magic a few days ago," he told her. "I wanted to be sure of it before I told you." Callum took the ring from her right hand, ignoring the wolf that was making his way up to perch on her shoulder, and reached for he left hand. "Cliona Conn McCullough, I love you," he said simply. "Will you allow me to make this promise?"

"Yes," she whispered, tears filling her eyes as he slid the ring onto its proper finger. Throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed him fiercely, raising catcalls and whistles from those around them. She blushed hotly, but that didn't keep her from burying her face in his neck when they danced.

Carriegan happened to be one of the ones catcalling. If anyone else had embarrassed her Spades, she would have shredded them, but it was her duty as a friend to tease the Enigmite whenever possible. A warm hand at the small of her back brought her attention back to her partner, and she grinned up at Vindorien. "Do you regret being my aunt's slave yet?" she twitted him.

"It's a lot of work," he agreed. "But I definitely want to learn the Potions."

"Do you want to be a Potions Master then?"

"Oh, no. Definitely not."

She knew he was arousing her curiosity on purpose (after all, Diadema and Colubrae were too similar for her to be fooled), but she still felt compelled to ask. "So what do you want to do?"

"I want to be an assassin and kill people without a trace."

Looking up at his face, shining with the appearance of good-natured honesty and sincerity, the metamorph decided that there was a limit to even her inquisitiveness, and she asked after Phydoux instead.

"Did we know he could do that?"

Polonius mutely shook his head to his colleague's question.

"Holy Merlin," Sachiko breathed

A very few brave souls had taken the dance floor when a swing song came on, Kushiel included. She knew the song had an actual title, but she didn't for the life of her knot it, and she was more or less content to call it the Chips Ahoy song after Cliona had shown her an old commercial. She and Cliona stood in a corner doing Charlestons, while nearby Guy and Elena were racing through pretzels, the gold lining of the Lobostro's black dress showing every time she spun.

She didn't know, or rather **hadn't** known, that Tyler knew how to swing, so she's been rather surprised when he'd grabbed her hand and pulled her with him to the center of the floor. She laughed breathlessly, flipping over his shoulder and falling. He caught her barely in time, sending her adrenaline spiking.

When the song finished and the dancers stumbled gasping and laughing off the floor, Tyler grabbed them both drinks. The Leaving Feast was the one time he didn't have to act like a professor, and he had always had a good time. Now, however, he was loving it. Ignoring the reproving glare sent to him by his employer, he stroked her cheek with one finger. "Come with me," he told her quietly. "I have something to give you."

"Really?" she asked whimsically, trailing along behind him. She liked the view from behind. His pants were doing wonderful things for his ass.

They walked in comfortable silence to Professor Kobiyashi's garden. Moonlight streamed down onto the path, glittering off of the koi ponds and fountains. Hand in hand, they continued to stroll amidst the blooming plants, lost in the heady fragrances. Eventually, they entered the enchanted pagoda and he lifted her to sit on the railing, bringing them closer to being of a height.

"So by now you've figured out that Hein told a few of us about his gift."

Glancing down at the seven charms now dangling from the bracelet, she smiled crookedly. "I never would have guessed it."

But her lightness met with an unexpected gravity, and he held an eighth charm between the tips of his forefinger and thumb. "I want to offer this to you, kinde, but I want to be sure you're okay with it first."

"Tyler-"

"Hear me out, Kush, please. I want so desperately to try this with you, but you have to promise me that you'll tell me if I go too fast."

"Just how innocent do you think I am?"

"Kush."

"I'm serious, Tyler." She took his other hand and brushed her lips across her fingertips. "I'm not a sweet, innocent little schoolgirl that's never been kissed, never been in a relationship. And the last thing you need to worry about it whether or not **I'll** be vocal if I don't like something. Honestly, you should know me better than that."

He grinned ruefully. "Would you think less of me if I admitted I was scared for some reason?"

She held out her left hand, moonlight dancing off the metal links. "Put it on for me, please?" Greatly relieved, he fastened the charm to her bracelet, watching her examine it curiously. "Why a boomerang?"

To her greater surprise, he blushed, barely noticeable in the darkness of the pagoda's interior. "When I was about to graduate from Avistrum, one of my mother's friends asked her she felt nervous about letting her children go out into the world. What if they didn't come back?" Partially lost in the memory, he laced his fingers through hers. "My mother looked at her friend, knowing she wouldn't understand, and explained anyway. She said the majority of children who grow up to truly leave their parents forever are products of keeping too close or pushing too far. But, if you raise them with the precise amount of flexibility, the exact balance of nurturing and teaching, when you send them soaring out into the world, they'll eventually come curving back."

"Like a boomerang," she whispered.

"Like a boomerang. I'll be honest, kinde, as glad as I am that there aren't any more rules against us seeing where this goes, I can't help but wonder what's going to happen when you go larking out into the world. Part of me wants to push you away, towards someone you'll me able to see more often, and part of me wants to put my arms around you and never let you go. But then I remember my mother's words, and I've decided to trust them, and you. So, I'm not going to stop you as you head out. I'm just going to hope swing back from time to time."

Balancing precariously on the rail, she hooked her legs around his waist and pulled him into her, kissing him sweetly. He crushed her to him, savoring the feel of her body against him. Pulling away, he rested his forehead against hers.

"So where does it lead?" she asked after a time.

"Hmm?"

"The Portkey. Where does it land?"

If she hadn't been touching him, she never would have known the heat that suddenly suffused his face. As it was, it only made her want to know more. "It's so we can see each other," he tried to evade.

She wasn't buying it. "Where does it lead?" she pressed.

"Well, it's just that…"

"Tyler." She pulled his chin down and forced him to meet her eyes. "Tell me where it leads."

"To my living room," he mumbled.

She started laughing so hard she fell off the railing. Conveniently, it was onto him, sending them both crashing to the floor, but even then, she continued to giggle helplessly

"It's not THAT funny," he muttered sourly.

"I disagree," she chortled.

"Obviously." When she just kept on laughing, he decided that it really was time to make her stop that. With the speed that served him well in his Keeping, he sat up quickly with her still in his lap, trapping her between his chest and the railing. The sound cut off abruptly, the air sizzling between them. "Not so funny now, is it?"

"I disagree," Kushiel answered softly.

"Naturally." Pinning her hands over her head, Tyler claimed his revenge, kissing and nibbling and teasing until she was mewling against him. He took savage possession of her mouth, the bars digging coldly against her bare back.

"Looking a bit disheveled , are we?"

Kushiel gave Carriegan an amused sideways glance. "Fix me?" she suggested, just as arch as her friend.

Stifling a smirk, Carriegan pulled out her wand and performed the spells to adjust the few musses in the redhead's appearance. "So long as you had fun."

"Absolutely," she assured, a beatific grin lighting up her face.

"So, Callum proposed to Cliona."

"What!"

"Carriekins, that's not nice," the lycan in question chided, coming up to pet the shocked Irishwoman. "He didn't propose, he promised."

Kushiel took the left hand that was offered her, dutifully inspecting the ring. "He promised with a sapphire? What the hell is he going to propose with?"

Her own jewelry was not unnoticed, however. Carriegan grabbed her wrist. "A boomerang?"

"From Tyler."

"Duh. Where's it go?"

"His office," she lied blandly.

"Uh-huh."

Cliona draped her arms about her friends' waists, watching the last dance. They watched the final goodbyes, the slow departure of the former students, the dimming of the Great Hall's lights. Finally alone, the trip simply stood in silence, looking around the hall that had been their home for seven years.

"It's time to fo," Carriegan said at last, and the other two nodded.

Together, the TripletS walked out of the Great Hall, leaving the spacious entrance hall for the moon-soaked courtyard. It was almost midnight, the moon directly overhead turning the pool at the base of the fountain into molten silver. Standing at the edge, they looked back to see the faculty lining the roof, giving their own final wishes.

With solemn respect and honor, the trip drew their wands and sent glittering streaks of sparks, green, blue, and green, into the air in a grave salute.

Up on the roof top, the professors and staff of the Avistrum Academy of Sorcery responded in kind, watching the young women turn and begin the long walk to the gates.

"You hear that?" Clark asked suddenly.

Half a dozen panicked voices replied. "What!"

"I don't hear anything," Sachiko fretted.

"Exactly. It's quiet." They stared at him in the unaccustomed silence.

"Too quiet," Kraven grunted, straining to see when the lamp atop the gates shifted. It bobbed for a moment and settled, a loud crack of unshielded Apparation splitting the still night. "Admit it, Clark, you'll miss them as much as the rest of us."

"Yes, I will." The Headmaster grinned ruefully, shaking his head. "Those girls are really something else."

"And what's more, they know it."

Laughing at Tyler's dry retort, the rest of them ducked back through the trap door into the castle, leaving the ginger-haired man staring down the dark path. His whisper crept along the night, magic fusing with desire and hope to grant one final protection. "Goddess bless, ladies."


End file.
